Hetalia x Reader: Bring Her Back
by threepinkdoors
Summary: After making a life-changing decision, you are left with no memories of your past and know only the ins and outs of the military. Meanwhile, the countries band together to learn more about you and why you are causing them so much pain. But you'll soon find that some of the most dangerous wars are fought over the love of a woman.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:**This is based on a dream I had. Some to none of you know that I will be joining the military soon, and I had a nightmare where I, not only stopped being a fan of Hetalia, but I completely forgot about them and they no longer existed in my world. So, this is just to get it off my chest, but also to remind me of what I don't want to become. It might turn into a series, but I'll leave that for you readers to decide if I should continue this or not.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_"_!"_

You smiled, your eyes closed. It was always good to hear his voice. "Alfred," you said aloud. But there was no one in your room.

"_!" the voice in your head said again. "_, is it true? Are you really gonna go through with this?"

"Yes, Alfie. I'm doing this," you answered, pride in your voice.

The handsome face appeared behind your closed eyes. "_, you don't have to, you know that?" he smiled softly.

"But I want to," you answered. "I want to give back. I want to be of service to you, the way you've always done for me."

Tears swelled up in his eyes. "I'm so proud of you, _. But you know, this is a big step."

"Marriage is a big step," you giggled. "But I'm ready to marry you, Alfred. I want to be closer to you than ever before."

The blonde smiled warmly and kissed your forehead. "Thank you, darlin'. No matter what happens, you'll always have me."

*~*

Your right hand shot up, marking the promise you were about to make. Your wedding dress was not white; you were dressed in a blue uniform, the kind you would wear almost every day for the rest of your life from that moment on. "I, _ _, do solemnly swear," you began.

Tears threatened to fall, but you held them back. Tears would indicate you did not want to go through with this. Alfred was standing right next to you, dressed in black like a groom. He smiled at you—but something was off.

"…that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic;"

He was… fading… he resembled his brother now…

"…that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;"

Wait, what brother? He didn't have a brother… did he? Why does he look scared?

"…and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me…"

This man… who was he? Did you know him? He wasn't at MEPS… What was he doing here, at your ceremony? He's trying to tell you something… But you can barely see him, much less hear him. There were tears in his eyes. Why was he crying?

"…according to the regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice."

You looked out of your peripheral vision. There was no one there. That would make sense; there was no one there in the first place.

"So help me God."


	2. Chapter 2

"You can feel it, can't you? I know you feel it."

"Shut up. Of course I can feel it."

"But vhat can ve do about it, comrades?"

"I don't know but we have to do something."

"Judging from the way you look, I'd say they're one of yours, America."

"Trust me, I feel a lot worse than what I look."

"Japan? You vant to add somezhing?"

"I was just wondering... We don't even know who this person is. How are we going to find sehm?"

The room was silent, all pondering on what they could do. This was one person in the world, one out of nearly seven billion people. Even if it was narrowed down to America, it was only one person in a vast sea of over three-hundred million. This person could be anywhere at any given time. How are they going to pick out which one of his citizens was causing him so much pain... and why?

*~*

"Attention!" Everyone in the room stood stiff and erect, stopping what they were doing to recognize the senior member of the group.

You stood to the front of the group. "At ease," you commanded. The airmen relaxed and moved their hands behind their backs and their left leg stuck out away from them, shoulder's width apart. "Good morning," you began. "I am Captain _. I am the head of the Intelligence Department." Someone smirked, and you didn't fail to miss it. "Did I say something funny, Airman?" you asked as you walked up to him, your face inches from his.

He dropped his sly smile and replaced it with a blank stare. "No, ma'am."

"Then perhaps there is something on my face that makes me look like an idiot," you responded coldly.

"No, ma'am," he answered again.

You stared at him for a few more minutes. "Sergeant Burrows."

A man standing in the back of the room answered. "Yes, Captain."

"See to it these men and women learn the proper meaning of respect."

"Yes, Captain." The Sergeant called the class to attention. "Get outside and fall into formation! Move!" In an instant, the flurry of greens and tans was out of the room, rushing outside into the cold rain. "Permission to speak, ma'am," Sergeant Burrows asked.

"Granted."

"I want to apologize for my men's behavior this morning, ma'am."

You nodded and took a few steps toward him. "Sergeant Burrows, it is your job to ensure these men and women are prepared to defend this country, and that they do it with the core values of the Air Force integrated into their minds more efficiently than a super computer. It is my job to make sure you do yours." You could almost see the blood drain from his face. "Good day, Sergeant."

*~*

"I really don't think you guys should be in here," America muttered as he looked through records of anyone he might've come in contact with in the past ten years.

"Shut up, America," England protested, looking through a file cabinet. "If you did this on your own, you'd die before you could even find this mystery person."

"Not to mention zhe fact zhat ve're next," Germany added, searching files in the computer's database. The rest of the countries were either piled on computers or searching through cabinets.

There was suddenly a loud bang. Everyone turned to see Russia standing near a file cabinet with a broken lock. "It voultn't open, da?" he smiled innocently.

"Whoa, okay, I draw the line at this!" America rushed and closed the cabinet. "These are files of people in my military. You're not looking through this."

Another loud bang. "Vhy not?" Russia asked, opening a folder that was inside yet another locked cabinet.

"Dude!" America scrambled for the folder, but Russia pulled away, sending the pages scattering. "Look what you did, Commie!" He rushed around, trying to pick up all the papers.

Russia looked down at a page that was near his foot. He picked it up and looked over it. "Captain _. She entered as Enlisted but finished her Officer trainink and moved up the ranks fairly quickly." America looked up, the blood draining from his face. "She's only twenty-zhree and she's zhe head of zhe Intelligence Department of zhe Air Force." His eyes traveled to the picture of your face. "She's very pretty."

"Give that to me." Russia looked up and saw a serious expression on America's face, his hand outstretched to him. Russia complied and let America look at the page. A shock went through America's body as he saw your face on the paper. His heart ached, and blood fell from his nose.

"America, you're bleeding," England sighed. "Come on, it's nothing pornographic, I'm sure."

America wiped the blood from his face. "England..." He looked up at everyone, a shocked expression on his face. "This is her."

They all immediately crowded around him. "Are you sure? Vhen did you last meet her?" Germany asked, taking the page and studying it.

America shook his head. "I've never met her before. I don't even know who she is, or what she's like."

"Come on, aru, you can't tell me you don't know the leaders of your own military!" China protested, sneaking a look at the paper.

America shook his head. "Nope. I don't really get in with the military. They do their thing, and I do mine," he responded. trying to catch his breath.

"Ve... Are you-a sure this is her?" Italy piped up, peeking over China's shoulder. "She's pretty! I want to date her~"

"Nein, ve must subdue her und force her to tell us vhat she's doing to us!" Germany protested, bonking Italy on the head.

"Da, but ve can't let her know who ve really are. It voult expose us," Russia chimed in.

"Wait, say that again!" America shouted, an idea forming in his head.

"Ve can't expose ourselves!" Russia smiled.

"Right! So what if we're just normal humans to her?" Everyone looked at each other. "Look, we can't tell her who we really are, right? What if we present ourselves as humans and try to get the information out of her through friendship?"

"America, she's an Intelligence Officer. I don't think she'll tell anyone anything. She's trained not to," England sighed.

"We could try seducing her, non?" France giggled. "She is quite zhe eyecandy!"

England stared at France. "Well, for once I'll have to agree with the Frog. She might be a little more willing to work with us if she knew us at a personal level."

America smiled weakly. "Well then, I suppose we have no choice."

"Eh, question?" Russia spoke. "Vhat is goink to happen vhen she realizes zhat we only seduced her to get information out of her?"

Everyone fell silent. "Hopefully by then, we'll have the information, and we can go back into hiding," England offered.

"We only have one shot at this, guys." America took off his glasses and rubbed his face. The sheer agony he was going through was clearly marked in his too-blue eyes. "If we fail, we all die. Simple as that."


	3. Chapter 3

"I am pleased to announce that Captain _, Head of the Department of Intelligence, has been promoted to the rank 'Major'," you superior officer announced. You kept a steady face and filled your eyes with pride as he handed you the Major's insignia. "Congratulations, ma'am."

You took the insignia in your left and and took his free hand with your right hand. "Thank you, sir."

On the outside you were neutral. But inside, you were ecstatic. You were only twenty-three-not a lot of people can be a Major at such a young age! Of course, a higher rank means more responsibilities. But you felt that you could take the whole world on. You certainly had the time to do it.

As the ceremony ended, you stayed behind and chatted with a few of your old colleagues, who will now be under your control. They congratulated you and held a steady face as they called you 'Major'. You couldn't help but smirk internally. They were older than you, nearly double your age. You knew it was going to bother them accepting your rank. But you made an mental memo to put them in their place if the situation allowed for it.

Normally, family would come to these events. But your mother had always been a thorn in your side ever since you announced that you were joining. You invited her, but she never even bothered to tell you she wasn't coming. You hadn't seen your father since you were a little girl. You decided it didn't matter. You looked around and saw husbands and wives of the military supporting their newly appointed officers, some of them carrying or being followed around by young children and infants. It pulled at your heartstrings- you had no one. You were alone. You had no parents with you. You had no real friends you could invite to such an intimate ceremony. You had no boyfriend and much less a husband, and no children that depended on you. In a sea of families, you were the only one standing in the center unaccompanied. You swallowed your instinct to cry and weaved your way in between the families, making your way to the exit.

"Major."

You froze. You turned to face the voice. A tall, handsome man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes stood in front of you. He wore a dark blue suit over a white shirt and a red tie. On his face was a pair of glasses, and a lazy cowlick stuck out of his blonde head. You stood erect as if he were your superior officer. "How may I help you?"

This man smiled. You could see a tired look in his eyes. "My name is Alfred Fitzgerald Jones. I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion. You deserve it. And I also wanted to thank you for your service."

"Thank you for your compliment, Mr. Jones." you said without a smile in your face but joy in your tone. "You are very welcome; I do what I must for my country."

He looked a bit hurt from what you said. "Would you mind accompanying me for lunch? It'll be my treat!"

You smiled. "I apologize, I have a lot of work to do. I normally do not eat out, as I am always working."

"So you're a workaholic?" he giggled. You eyed him carefully; he cleared his throat. "Well then, if not lunch, let me buy you a drink. You deserve it."

You thought it over. Really, you didn't have a lot of work to do-it could be finished in less than three hours. You normally didn't drink either, but a few drinks here and there wouldn't affect your work. And lastly, this was a complete stranger whom you had just met. "That depends on where we are going, Mr. Jones," you answered calmly.

He smiled. "There's a classy place in town that I know of. It's mostly just a place to hang out, but they have the best mixed drinks ever!"

You couldn't help but smile at is enthusiasm. "Alright, I accept your invitation."

*~*

Alfred wasn't kidding when he said the place was classy. It mostly looked like a coffeehouse that sold alcoholic beverages. You chose a pear and lavender martini and Alfred took a glass of brandy. "So how does a young woman like you manage to climb those ranks so quickly?" Alfred smiled, taking a sip of his drink.

"Is this an interrogation, Mr. Jones?" you smirked. "I don't do interviews without prior appointment."

"Just call me Alfred, darlin'," he winked. You felt your face heat up a little. "And this isn't an interrogation. I just want to know a bit more about you, is all." Alfred's face suddenly turned grave. You followed his gaze and looked behind you, seeing a diverse group of men making their way towards the two of you.

"Do you know them?" you asked, feeling quite outnumbered. You braced yourself for the worst as the men approached you.

"Yeah," Alfred muttered, shooting them a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here glare.

"There you are!" a blonde with emerald eyes grimaced. "We were looking everywhere for you, Alfred."

"What do you want, Arthur?" Alfred spat. "I'm a little busy."

"I do apologize, but you know we are on a mission." Arthur looked at you, feeling something familiar with your face. "Where are you manners, why don't you introduce us to your friend?"

Alfred sighed. "Major, these are my good friends Arthur Kirkland, Wang Yao, Ivan Braginsky, Feliciano Vargas, Ludwig Beilschmidt, and Kiku Honda."

"You forgot me!" A man with stunning blue eyes and wavy blonde hair cried.

"And Francis Bonnefoy..." Alfred winced. "Guys, this is Major _." At the mention of your name, they all cringed.

"Ve~ Ciao, bella!" an Italian with brown hair and golden eyes jumped out at you. "I'm Feliciano Vargas-!"

He was quickly put away by a tall man with blonde hair and icy blue eyes. "Please excuse him, he normally acts this way... I'm Ludwig Beilschmidt."

A short man with a black bowl-cut and charming chocolate eyes bowed low in front of you. "Hajimemashite, I am Honda, Kiku."

A man with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail held his hand out to you. "Wang Yao," he said cheerfully. You took it and shook hands.

"Right then, forgive my horrible manners. I am Arthur Kirkland." He held his hand out and you took it. You blushed at his British accent. You love British accents.

"Oui, move aside, Angleterre!" A Frenchman pushed his way towards you and swiped your hand from Arthur's grip, planting a delicate kiss to it. "Ma cherie, I am your future lover! Francis Bonneyfoy-!"

A large hand was placed on Francis's shoulder, and you could see pressure being put on it. "Don't sully her, da?" warned the tallest man in the room, his colorless hair falling in front of menacing purple eyes. Francis squeaked and moved aside, terrified of this man. "Please excuse him, comrade. My name is Ivan Braginsky." He smiled down at you.

You looked aside to Alfred. He looked away during the entire exchange, a slight blush on his face. You looked down at your watch and stood, Alfred finally looking up. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet all of you. But I'm afraid I have a multitude of work waiting for me at home." You held your hand out Alfred. He hesitated, but he shook it. "It was very nice to meet you, Alfred." You smiled down genuinely at him. He smiled back. You turned on your heel and walked toward the exit.

"Wait!" Alfred called. You stopped and looked over your shoulder. "Does this mean you'll go out with me?"

His excitement was almost too much to handle. So that's what he wanted, you thought. You gave him a cocky smirk. "Don't think that your pretty face will distract me from work, darlin'."

You left the men dumbfounded by your response. "So... was that a 'yes', or a 'no'?" Arthur pondered.

"I zhink zhat vas somevhat closer to a 'no', comrade," Russia smiled warmly.

"She said I had a pretty face..." Alfred blushed. "Well, duh! I'm the hero!"

"Shut up, America!" Arthur scolded. "We have to find a way to get closer to her. Perhaps we could take her out on separate days."

"Or we could do zhis in one shot and go as a group," Francis chuckled.

"Nein, ve must get to know her first und zhen ask her out on dates," Germany spoke, crossing his arms. "Alzhough, she seems like a vorkaholic. It vill be hard to get her avay from her duties."

"America, you have an entire file on her, da? Vhy don't ve peek at it to see vhat it is she likes and doesn't like?" Russia offered.

America thought it over. It would be breaking a huge law if they did that. But he knew the sands of time were running out for him, and eventually the world. He sighed. "Fine. We have to move as quickly as possible."


	4. Chapter 4

"Man, what a boring person!" America sighed, throwing his arms, and the papers they once possessed, in the air. "She's got no hobbies, and the only thing she really likes doing is working!"

"She _has_ no hobbies, America..." England shook his head as he corrected his former colony. "Well there must be something she enjoys doing, other than work. Your studies on your people are always incomplete as it is!"

"Da, zhere is!" Russia exclaimed as he burst through the door carrying something that looked like a cassette player. "Listen!" He pushed a button on the player and a beautiful melody came from it. It filled the room, causing everyone in it to stop and stare at the recording.

"Ah, that's-a Con Te Partiro! She sings it so pretty!" Italy chimed in, squeezing between the crowd to get a better listen. "Mmm, she does it so well! It's hard to sing-a like that!"

"Really, Sarah Brightman did it better," England muttered.

"Ja, but she didn't study opera. She vasn't even in choir," Germany stated matter-of-factly, having memorized your file.

Everyone whistled at the last note, an extremely high C, which you hit with perfection. "Damn!" America laughed, still unbelieving. "Russia, where'd you get this?"

A small blush came across the large man's face. "I vent to her home, da? I heard her sinkink and I recorded her."

"Wait, she actually sang in front of you?" England scoffed, a twinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Don't be silly! She voult never do zhat!" Russia giggled. "I snuck into her home vhile she was takink shover and she vas sinkink!

"RUSSIA!" they all exclaimed.

"It not right to sneak into otha people's homes, aru!" China scolded.

"Vhy not? Russia smiled cruelly.

"Because it's not right, my tall, frosty Chum." England sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and his forefinger.

"Vell, I got zhe information. Vhat are you complainink about?" Russia crossed his arms and turned away, clearly offended by the others ignorance.

"Well, that's true, too..." America pondered. Russia flashed him a kind smile that may have been mistaken for a perverted grin. "I-in any case, now we know she's got a thing for fine art. It's a good start!"

England straightened his tie. "Well then, gentlemen, I shall be on my way."

Russia reached out and grabbed his collar before he could make it out the dour. "I zhink not, comrade. I found her hobby first. It's fair zhat I shoult be gettink first date vith her."

England shook a little but he did not back down. "What gives you the right, you git? As if she'd fall for a bloke like you! She clearly enjoys the finer things in life, and that means me!"

"Well, if you ask moi..."

"NO ONE ASKED YOU!" Russia and England shouted simultaneously.

*~*

You sighed and sat back in your chair, reading a report you were just sent. The United States' military force was increasing rapidly as the rest of the world was at a slow decline. Industry was up higher than it had ever been, and the economy was being fixed as you read. You smirked; your country was being lifted from its nose-dive out of the supremacy it held. It was shooting back up faster than a rocket, back to where it belonged. Soon, even Russia would be kneeling at its feet. True, there were some things that were sacrificed; every phone was taped, every letter inspected. There was no person that escaped your watchful eye. No one knew, and few suspected, that you could listen in on their phone conversation or read their text messages out of caprice.

Of course, you'd never really do that unless it was of national importance. But it was nice to know that no one could lie anymore, and that was exactly as you saw things.

You signed off on the report that claimed a terrorist was planning on terrorizing citizens and sent it on its way. Within the day he would be behind bars and awaiting trial before anyone was hurt.

A knock on the door interrupted your manipulative thoughts. You eyed the door carefully; you were not expecting any company. "Enter," you breathed, steadying yourself.

A man with a golden mop on his head and a pair of emeralds covered by fuzzy caterpillars peeked into the door, saw you, and quickly slipped into the office. "Good afternoon, Major." He flashed a charming smile and approached the desk.

"You are... Mr. Kirkland, right?" You remembered him from your encounter with Alfred Jones. His British accent wasn't easily forgotten. "What can I do for you?" you smiled.

"Actually, you'd be doing me a favor by simply letting me take you out for a spot of tea."

Your eyes widened as you saw how serious he was. No one really ever asked you out, and with good reason-you were mostly seen as a stick-in-the-mud workaholic. "M-Mr. Kirkland, I'm kind of busy right now..."

"Then whenever you're free," he insisted. "Perhaps after work, if you're already taken your afternoon break."

This was not going to be an easy one to weasel your way out of. You could tell he would keep insisting, and you really had no other excuse to give him. "Tell you what, I'm taking my lunch break in about fifteen minutes. Wait for me outside for a bit while I finish my work, okay?"

A small blush crept on his face as he agreed and he left the office promptly. You sunk back into your chair.

How long had it been? Your heart hadn't beat this madly since... since when? You life before the military was a blur. You couldn't tell if you had ever been in love or been loved. What did you like to do as a child? What was your favorite book? TV show? Movie? Answering those now seemed impossible. Now you enjoyed the book The Art of War written by a really old dead guy. Your favorite movie was Act of Valor, and you rarely watched TV save for the Military Channel. It was as if the military was all you knew and you were afraid to go outside of your knowledge-

You raised a hand and struck your face as hard as possible. "No, I'm not afraid," you muttered, nursing your wound. "I was trained to never feel fear. It's not fear that I feel... It's insecurity." Upon hearing yourself correct yourself, you realized it was indeed insecurity. You were used to military life. What would it be like out in the civilian world? It was hard to tell.

It might be a complete disaster.


	5. Chapter 5

Oh the horror, oh the _horror_... You were stuck on a _date_ with a man named Arthur Kirkland, a man you hardly knew, and a man that so boldly decided to ask you out, _you_ of all people. What, was he missing a screw? He probably was. Just to clear something up, he was quite a charming man. He was a gentleman, probably part of the high class society that is England's nobles. He was very polite and never rude. No, he wasn't the one with the problem.

You were. You, the workaholic Major of the United States Air Force, were the problem. Sure, you could speak eight different languages fluently as if you lived in its respective country all your life. Sure, you could stare down the barrel of a loaded gun without faltering or breaking a sweat.

But go on a date? This was proving to be your most difficult challenge yet. What would you say? What _could_ you say? There was so much national information lodged in your brain, you were certain you risked blurting something out. You took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.

You were in a small, popular cafe, drinking your favorite warm drink, sitting across a very handsome blonde with deep green eyes, who was drinking a cup of earl grey. He immediately started chattering away about his home country; England, of course. He talked about the Queen, and the Guard, and Buckingham, and Parliament. He talked about England during the Revolutionary War and how the British were just as heartbroken as the Americans for having to fight brother against brother. His voice was soft and delicate, like a whisper in the deepest part of the blackest forest.

You paid very close attention, commenting on the things you've seen in your travels to foreign countries-which were limited since you only traveled on orders and hardly spent time out of the base. You asked questions, having never been to England or any of its former colonies, besides America, of course. "I'm always really very busy, so I don't have time to be a tourist when I'm out of country," you admitted. "Even when I do find time for tourism, I'd rather spend it getting a headstart on future projects. That way, I won't have to do them later."

Arthur smiled. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with always wanting what's best for your country. I am often busy with the United Kingdom myself!" He gave a little chuckled and then took a sip of tea.

"And I am to assume you are also in the military, Mr. Kirkland?" A slight ray of hope nestled in your gut. Maybe you had more in common with this man than you thought.

Arthur put his tea cup down. "Actually, you can say that I work for the government in general."

You bit your lip. "Is this an interrogation, Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur eyed you carefully. "Of course not, Major. And I don't want you to think for a moment that it is."

You nodded, half satisfied with the answer. You were trained to keep your mouth shut. You were trained to, not trust people's words, but their merits. Something told you to trust the one called Arthur Kirkland, at least a little, and you decided to go with your gut instinct. "Alright. You'll have to excuse me, my line of work is classified."

"No, no, I understand perfectly." He shot you a charming smile, the one that made your heart flutter.

You stayed staring at him-for how long, you didn't know. His gaze captured yours, and the two of you were silent for a moment, cherishing every second. You suddenly glanced down at your watch. "Oh dear... I'm very sorry, but that's all the time I have for today."

You stood and he followed suit. "No, it's perfectly fine, I understand. Thank you for joining me this afternoon."

"You're welcome, Mr. Kirkland." You flattened your coat, readying yourself to leave.

"Please," he stopped you. "Call me Arthur."

You felt your cheeks turn a light shade of pink. "Well then... Arthur." A small smile played on your lips. "Have a nice day."

Arthur watched you leave, feeling quite content with himself. You wouldn't be the first girl he dated, but you were by far the most interesting. You were classy, quiet, and well-educated. You weren't lewd like France or overly bubbly like America.

"So, how'd it go?"

Arthur jumped out of his skin and spun around to see America standing behind him, a very unimpressed look on his face. "Bloody hell, America! Can't you leave me to a moment of peace?"

America shrugged, his usual hyperactive attitude lost somewhere. "Just thought I'd bug the hell out of you."

England cringed; there was something about America that gave him chills. He was standing up straight instead of laid back. His lively eyes were dangerously eyeing him. "O-oi, quit raping me with your eyes, Wanker!" England exclaimed, causing a few people to look in his direction. "Let's take this elsewhere-"

"No, we can keep this here."

England felt as if he'd received a punch in the gut. He stiffened and glared right back at America's cold, cruel eyes. "Talk."

"I didn't give you permission to talk to Major _."

England smirked. "Jealous?"

America sneered. "Stay away from her."

"I don't think you decide who she dates, Ame-_Alfred_."

"She works for me. Hell yeah, I decide." America said with an icy voice. "As far as I know, you're only dating her to get to me."

"Have you gone mad?" England scoffed. "You're forgetting that you're _dying_, you idiot! I'm dating her to find out what she's doing to you, areshole."

"I don't care about that!" America shouted.

England all but burst out laughing. "So you _are_ jealous!"

America bit his tongue, holding himself back from punching England in the nose. "If I find out that you're using her to get sensitive information about me, I _swear_, you're finished." He couldn't. He couldn't admit that he had an attraction to you. Ever since he met you, you sent his heart fluttering away in a flurry whenever he thought about you. Even if you were killing him. The mere thought of anyone looking in your direction made his hand twitch for his Colt.

You belonged to him. There was no way he was going to give you away that easily.


	6. Chapter 6

America was mad.

No, that's not the word. If you're mad, you'd get over it in a short period of time. So America wasn't mad.

He was pissed.

He was no closer to finding out what you were doing to make him feel so weak. Whatever it was, it must have been something powerful because it was starting to affect everyone else. And to add the delicious florescent icing on this Hero cake, England was hitting on you.

The fucking Limey.

"So vhat vas she like?" Germany demanded from the Brit.

England stuck his nose in the air and smugly replied, "She's just as we all expected; a workaholic. But she's well-educated, and she has class."

"Oui, so I should date 'er next!" France fluttered.

"Nyet, you are to be lettink me take her out next!" Russia smiled.

America scowled at all of them. How dare they _think_ they have a chance with you when you were already 'married' to him? No, they weren't going to take you away from him. Not to mention that you already know so much about him, even if you didn't know it. He had to think of a way to gain the upper hand. He had to shine above the rest; if not, you might just leave him.

"Ah? America-kun has somethink to say, da?" Russia chuckled. "Vhat's vith zhat face, comrade?"

England cleared his throat; America gave him a death-glare. "I'm sick and in pain, _Russia_. Now do me a favor and get out of my face."

"Sarcasm hurts, da?" Russia prodded. "You look like someone stole your girl."

"No, but if you don't pay attention, someone might steal yours," he said coldly. Russia gave him a confused look, and then turned to see that England was not in the room anymore. "Better hurry; he's already got a headstart over all of you."

The whole room was tense. America was right; if they weren't careful, England might steal the prize away. In the blink of an eye, the room was empty, and America was left to his thoughts, with the occasional pain in his chest growing intensely.

"It's getting worse..." he breathed, opening your file again. "Major _, what the hell are you doing..." He flipped through all the papers, having already read all of them, for no reason at all. Suddenly, a small slip of paper fell from his fingers. He eyed it as it gently fell to the floor. "What's this..." He picked it up and leaned against the wall, yawning. "Major _," he read. "has approved the Extension 536 to the Patriot Act-"

The blood drained from his face. "N-no way..." He read it over and over, wishing the words were a lie. "Major _ has approved the Extension 536 to the Patriot Act, which will allow we, the United States government, to ensure the safety of our people from all threats, both foreign and domestic, by gathering recorded information from any type of communication device, including the internet." He crumpled the paper and clutched his chest, the pain swelling up again. "No, no, no, no, no! This can't be happening!"

America suddenly got a cold feeling running up his spine. He looked up and saw someone hiding in the shadows. His porcelain skin and stunning snowy hair didn't give him away as much as those large, murderous rubies in place of eyes. "Hallo, America. Do you remember me?"

America held his breath. He had never felt so alone, and so weak. How long had it been since those eyes haunted his dreams? He was always afraid of this man, for the sole purpose that it was his own fault he was dead. He never thought he'd show up now, of all times, when he was so desperate.

"Prussia..."

*~*

"England! Vhere are you to be goink?" Russia called.

"Where else?" England scoffed. "I'm going to see her again."

"And you zhink I voult just let you have her vithout a fight?" Russia smiled.

England glared up at the tall man. "Shove off, Russia. A huge twit like you will never get a delicate girl like her. You can kiss that fairy tale goodbye!"

"Ah, you still zhink zhis is a fairy tale, comrade?" Russia sneered. "Stop to be zhinkink about stupid zhinks like zhat. Fairy tales don't exist!"

England clenched his fist and slammed it right into the larger man's nose. Russia took a step back in surprise, but England was on him already, landing blows to his face left and right. "Stay! Away! From! My girl!" he shouted with every punch he threw.

England was so much smaller than Russia, and it was not long before the tables were turned. Russia threw the smaller off of him and grabbed the back of England's hair, slamming it hard against the wall of a nearby building. "You zhink just because you dated her once she's yours, you're wrong!

Just then, a large pair of hands grabbed the two fighters by the scruffs and pulled them apart. "Stop fighting! You're acting like children!" he shouted.

Russia and England both looked up menacingly at the pair of icy blue eyes that threatened to destroy them both. "Stay out of it, Germany. This is a fight between me and Russia," England scowled.

"Zhere vill be no more fighting!" Germany barked. "Ve need to stay together! Or else ve'll all die zhe same vay America is dying now."

Russia spit out blood from his mouth, wiping his nose free of the red liquid as well. "You vant to vork togezher, Germany? I don't zhink zhe Major vill appreciate havink multiple lovers, da." Germany's face turned a soft peachy pink and a cruel smile grew on Russia's lips. "Oh, so you vere zhinkink about datink her too?" He forced Germany's hand off his scarf and turned to walk away. "From now on, I von't need you. I'm goink to make Major _ mine, because I have fallen in love vith her. And if I have to kill you in zhe process, I vill not hesitate to do so."

A cold chill ran up England's spine. Russia liked you too? No; he said he _loved_ you. He shook the thought from his head. "Good luck, you big oaf! I'll definitely be making her fall in love with me!" he called after him. But Russia did not falter in his stride. "The nerve of him," England grumbled.

"Vell," Germany frowned. "If zhat's how it's going to be, I, too, vill have to prepare for war."

England stared up at him with a stunned look. "Oh, don't tell me..." But Germany was already walking away. Germany too? Who _else_ was going head-over-heels for you?! "Never mind that," England breathed, his anger boiling. "If it's war you want, it's a war you'll get."


	7. Chapter 7

**Russia**  
It was a little odd how much Russia was willing to throw away for a woman he hardly knew. He had never felt such an attraction to anyone before. It was more than a sexual one, that was true. He felt he had to protect you from the world, shield you from the clutches of the other countries. It was an admiration, an adoration. He would be at your beck and call if you so wished it.

Just a little odd.

Russia drove through the city of Moscow, deep in thought. He hardly paid attention to how fast he was going, or how slow traffic was moving; he weaved in between the cars as if they weren't there at all. The tires of his car screeched to a stop in front of the Kremlin. He didn't bother locking it; he had other matters to attend to. Everyone stared at him; he paid them no mind. he burst through the doors of the President's office, causing a stir in the guests he was entertaining. "I must talk to you, Mr. President." His calm voice carried the poison of the bitter fight with his fellow country, and his face looked no better.

The President muttered for everyone to leave and within the minute they were alone. "Vhat is wrong, Vanya? I hope you left him as bloody as he left you."

Russia flashed him a smirk. "Could you expect less of me, Mr. Putin?" He invited himself to sit in front of the desk. "I have request, da."

Mr. Putin smiled. "Vhat can I do for you, Ivan? You know my vork requires me to do everyzhink possible for you to be comfortable."

Russia swallowed a lump in his throat. There was something about the smile his boss was giving him that made him want to rethink his idea. But he quickly pushed that thought aside. "I need someone to be vith me. Razher, I need to... eh... 'kidnap' somevone, if you vill."

Mr. Putin's smile disappeared. "Ivan, you know you are not allowed to kidnap anyvone unless you vant to start a var."

"Zhat is zhe ozher reason vhy I am here." Ivan shuddered and took a deep breath. "Call me selfish, but I... have fallen in love... vith a gi-voman. She's American. And she's in zhe United States military."

Mr. Putin was not amused. "Have you lost mind? Do you know vhat kind of danger you put yourself in, simply by suggestink somezhink as drastic as zhat?" he said sternly. "Of course I von't give you permission!"

"I don't care about myself!" Russia shouted. "I vant her. And I must have her before somevone steals her from me!"

"She's just a voman! Zhere are plenty more in Russia, and far pettier, too." Mr. Putin pointed out.

"Nyet, I could never love anyone zhe vay I love her. I have never felt zhis vay before... And I feel I could die if I don't have her vith me..." Russia looked away. He knew what he was saying was foolish. He still didn't even know why he felt that way about you. He talked to you once, and stalked you in your home once. And he knew you definitely didn't feel the same way about him. Yet.

Mr. Putin saw the seriousness in Russia's eyes; he'd known the country for so long, he could tell what he was feeling, even if his expression was completely opposite. Mr. Putin sighed. "Vanya, you've asked for so many favors, and your people are suffering because of it." Russia stayed silent. "Russia, have you been using zhese favors to get close to zhis girl?" Russia dropped his gaze; yes. "Fine. I vill give you vone more favor." Russia looked up in surprise. "I vill make it possible for you to steal zhis girl avay and cover your tracks vith our military intelligence. I cannot guarantee you vill be safe for a long time, however..."

Russia failed at holding back a smile. "Sapsibo, Mr. Putin-"

Mr. Putin held up a hand. "You're forgettink my end of zhe deal." Russia waited patiently. "I vill make sure you get your girl, and in exchange, you vill ensure I vin zhe next Presidential election."

Russia's eyes widened. "You vant me to lie," he breathed, "You vant me to give you illegal votes?"

Mr. Putin smiled and nodded. "It's vhat's best for zhe country. You, of all people, know zhat."

Yes, Russia had to admit that Vladimir Putin was the best thing that had ever happened to him, ever since his reincarnation from the Soviet Era. Even though Russia thought he had a not-so-secret grudge against America because of the Cold War-and something told Russia that he would not hesitate to go to war against the superpower, necessary-he had to admit that Mr. Putin was the only one qualified to be president. "Do ve have a deal, Russia?" Mr. Putin smiled, holding his hand out to the country.

Russia bit his lip. He knew what he was doing was illegal and corrupt. He might even end up in a worse state than America. Forcing his negative thoughts aside, his hand shot out and met his president's giving it a firm shake. "Da."


	8. Chapter 8

**Italy**  
"Ve..." Italy sighed. Germany had acted very weird that afternoon after he chased after Russia and England. Italy was never one for reading moods, but he actually tried for once, and he didn't like what he read.

"Germany said-a to prepare for war..." Italy mused. "But he seemed-a kind of on edge... He didn't even-a tell me if I wanted to be on his-a team..."

Italy walked aimlessly through the streets of Venice. He wasn't really paying much attention to the people or the food that passed him by. "Still, Major _ is my Bella... Germany knows that! I hope he's not-a trying to steal-a her away from me! I'm-a not that strong, but I would-a fight for my Bella!" His imagination trailed off, imagining how he would defeat all who stood between him and you, even going so far as beating Russia with his own pipe. Not a twinge of fear trickled down his spine as it had so many times before. Thinking of you gave him the strength to fight off his enemies, even if it was in his imagination.

"Well, why-a not?" Italy coached himself, leaning on the railing of a bridge. "I beat-a the Ottoman Turks when I was a little bambino! I could easily defeat even Russia!"

He leaned back and let the warm sun drench his skin. His imagination started to wander again, and it ended up in a room he did not recognize. It was a plain white room, not too big and not too small. There was a small bed in the center of the room, a dresser next to it, and a mirror with drawers on the other side. Above the bed was a large map of the world. Across the bed was a large closet and next to that was a small black bookcase filled with books of different genres. Some books were about a school of magic, others about a fight to the death between children. Some were written backwards and some were written forwards. And some contained valuable pieces of political information. On one wall was a window with long, purple velvet for curtains. Next to the window was another large poster, this one of the flags of the world, and on the other side of the window was small yellow vanity that was missing a mirror. It had a few drawers and its own stool. On the desk was a cubic box which was the bass for a pair of thin black speakers. On this box was a set of color pencils, one hundred, to be exact. In the middle of the desk was a green notebook with the words "Stories PRIVATE!" on the cover.

Italy looked around. The room was void of life, save for a tiny little plant in a pot on the windowsill. Everything was neat and organized "Ciao!" he called out. No answer. He walked around the room, looking for something that might tell him where he was. In one of the drawers he found a folded garden flag. It was an American flag. He peeked out the window. An American flag hung proudly from an outer wall. "Ah, so I am in America's house!" Italy concluded. He replaced the flag, satisfied with his conclusion.

"No, stop!"

Italy froze. Someone was in the house after all. He panicked, jumping around frantically. This was clearly a girl's room, and he had entered without permission. He dove into the closet and closed the doors, leaving a crack open for him to peek.

"Alfred, stop!" a girl giggled.

"Alfred?" Italy muttered under his breath. "America?"

The door to the room opened. "Quit it!" A girl entered the room. Her bag was adorned with many buttons, most of which looked like the books in the book case. But she was alone. America was no where to be seen. "I said no!" She sat at the desk and pulled out her pen, opening the notebook to a clean page. "I have to write this fanfic, let me work!"

Italy stared in confusion. The only ones in the room were he and this strange girl he did not know. There was no one else by the name of 'Alfred' anywhere near them.

"Oh? Did I make you do something you didn't like? Too bad! I need the suspense! Please let me write it!

Italy stretched his neck to see what it was she was writing. He leaned against the door, but leaned too far, and came crashing down with the door.

The girl screamed. "Who-who are you?!" she exclaimed, stepping away from Italy. Italy tempted a peek at the poor girl. A horrible feeling hit the pit of his stomach.

He knew this girl. It was you.


	9. Chapter 9

**France**  
It really bothered France when everyone thought he was a rapist. There was absolutely nothing wrong with having a little fun here and there! And after all, he was the world's darling Big Brother!

France grumbled through the streets of Paris. The usual people he would talk to knew better than to bother him when he was in a slump. For some reason, you were stuck in his head. But he wasn't sure why. And what was weirder is that you were completely clothed.

Completely. Clothed. In chaste clothing, at that!

He couldn't bring himself to satisfy his sexual angst with you, even in his imagination. There was something about you that he felt he must protect. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced for more than a hundred years, and it felt so foreign. The last girl he had felt that way for was a warrior all herself. She was incredibly smart, and she led him to glory.

Jeanne d'Arc.

Could it be possible you were her, reincarnated? Yes, if you believe in reincarnation. But he knew you were definitely not Jeanne. You were so much like her, but not like her, if that made any sense. It was tearing his heart apart, knowing that he could easily fall in love with you. He had made a promise, long ago, that he would never love someone other than Jeanne. But somehow, in the few words he shared with you, he managed to fall in love all over again. He felt he was betraying Jeanne, his beloved.

And for some reason, he was okay with it.

*~*

**Japan**  
Japan paced his office back and forth. He felt a strong connection to you, for some odd reason. He felt he knew you, even if he only introduced himself to you. What could it be? He didn't know much about you, other than what was in your military file.

Japan moved to his work desk and pulled out his pencils. He sketched madly way, hid mind thinking of other things while his body worked. It could be possible that you lived in Japan for a while. But the file said you had never lived anywhere else other than America. Your whole family was in America, so you had no reason to visit other countries, either. As enlisted, you were required to learn a different language, but it was not Japanese.

Japan threw his pencil down, his frustration getting the best of him. He threw his head back and covered his face with his hands. What could possibly the connection between you and him. He knew there was a connection; he could feel it, deeply embedded in his being.

Giving up, he stood and did not give his drawing a peek.

He moved to his computer and Googled your name. "Major moves up ranks quickry," he read the headlines. "Time magazine, Miritary... Sehy are all current..." He sighed and closed the tab. At the bottom of the screen, a little vocaloid was moving toward the edge of the screen, climbing up the side. "Herro, sehre, Miku-chan..." The little vocaloid only climbed higher

Suddenly, she jumped, and landed on the edge of an open window on the desktop. It was a painting program. Japan watched carefully as she climbed up and sat at the top of the window, bouncing to the beat of her own music. "Sah picture?" Japan turned to look at his work desk, the pencil where he left it, eraser shavings everywhere. "Sahnk you, Miku-chan..."

Japan moved back to his work desk and cleared the page of eraser and pencil shavings. He hadn't realized he had drawn a girl. She was sitting at a vanity-turned desk, with color pencils on a black box. There was a laptop on the vanity and a flat little device on her lap, and a pen-type object in her hand. She was busying herself on the laptop; though the screen was blank. But she looked concentrated on something. The world could have exploded and she would still be at the desk, doing her work, whatever it was. It could have been drawing or reading or writing, Japan wasn't sure.

Japan sat on the chair once more and picked up the pencil. He forced himself back into the blank stare and let his hand do the work. The rest of the room suddenly took color. There was a window next to the vanity, and a large closet on the other side. Next to the closet was a book case, stuffed with different genres of books. A little ways down, on another wall, was a door, and then a mirror with drawers.

When he was done, he started paying attention to detail. The closet was filled with jackets and button down shirts. There were pencil skirts, giving the girl the appearance that she was a professional, or at least worked somewhere professional. There was a single dress, fit for prom, that looked like it had never been worn. In the book case, he saw he had drawn the spines of books about a school of magic and a fight to the death between children. But on the top shelf he saw a familiar spine duplicated over and over. He recognized those books; the were about a human-turned soul reaper, defeating things called Hollows. "Otaku?" he guessed. His eyes shot back to the computer screen. Something had appeared there.

On the only open window of the computer, he saw a man staring at him. He had jet-black hair in a bowl cut, and soulless eyes that burned through his soul.

It was him. The girl had drawn him.

Japan moved back and fell from his chair. He looked up in disbelief. "She drew me...? How...?"

And then it dawned on him; the girl in the picture was a picture of you, possibly in a different universe where you were an otaku and you drew a bunch of Japanese things. "Or maybe..."

Japan ripped the page out of the notebook and grabbed his coat. "I shourd tark to America-san."


	10. Chapter 10

**China**  
China was, if anything, a tad bit selfish. He held property in different countries, allowing him to expand his sales of goods through little China Towns. But the little villages were sort of a hobby of his. His real income came from the gamble of stocks and trade, and he was damn good at it.

China had invested a majority of his money in foreign countries, specifically European countries. But his biggest investment, and the most profitable, was in America. America may not be aware, but he was holding Chinese yuan in his hand, not dollars. If money was in the state of land, China would own the entire West coast, the most profitable area of the United States. It usually brought joy to his eyes that America would soon owe him so much money, his supremacy would mean nothing. He would have to ask China permission to build ships, nuclear weapons, and trade with other countries. America would be in a bind, and he wasn't even realizing the clutches slowly grasping him.

But now, another matter entirely was taking place. Someone else was bringing him to his knees, and it wasn't even a country. It was you, a small, insignificant human female who seemed to have him at beck and call. What you were doing to America was anyone's guess. China surely didn't know. He knew he should feel glad that America would soon implode on himself. But if America went bankrupt, China would be right behind, seeing that China had no real money except a slip of paper that measured his investments.

In China's eyes, he had to protect his investments. It seems cruel, yes. But his country ran on stocks. If his stocks crashed, he would cease to exist.

China stood in the atrium of his home, feeling the breeze sift through his silky brown hair. His red Tangzhuang was light and made of silk, perfect for practicing his tai chi. He moved slowly and fluently, focusing on breathing and hardening his muscles. His form of meditation took the thoughts away from America, money, you... The world seemed to melt away as he moved.

"Yao."

China froze, his concentration gone. Everyone knew better than to interrupt him during his sessions. But the sound of his boss's voice immediately brought him back to his sense. "Yes, teacher." He walked over to his boss and bowed respectively.

"I'm afraid I have bad news." China eyed him carefully. "It seem America is getting worse and worse. We're losing whatever money we have with him."

The gears in China's head started whirring. "Thank you, master." He bowed again.

China tried to resume his tai chi. But the fluidness of peace had left him, leaving him with the jerky, rough movements more commonly seen in a self-defense form. He breathed deeper, moved faster, kicked higher. The world spun around him, testing him, teasing him. He finally shot his leg in the air, stopping short of landing a blow to his boss impressed face. "You're still here," he said through huffed breaths. "Tell America that I'm coming for him, aru." Only after he finished speaking did he lower his stance and place both feet firmly on the ground. "Thank you," he bowed yet again. He took his leave, storming through his home.

America wasn't going to bring him to ruins. He would steal you away and force you to fix the world, whether you liked it or not.

*~*

**Germany**  
Germany tried to focus on his work, but his mind seemed to be preoccupied with you at the moment. It was frustrating getting so worked up over a woman, and an American at that. He ran his fingers through his sleek blonde hair, but it wasn't helping any. Music didn't help either.

He had to admit you were an attractive woman. But beyond your beauty, he could tell that you were a strong woman as well. You weren't one to take anyone's ideas shoved down your throat. You seemed like a fighter, and the fact that you were in the military only strengthened that quality. He knew a lot about you from your file. Your mother disowned you when you enlisted. Your father had left you and your mother alone when you were very young. You had no siblings and no one else in your life. And even beyond that you kept playing the game of life as if there was nothing wrong with your life.

That's what Germany liked about you. Your ability to push aside huge hurdles in your life and go on like nothing happened, even taking advantage of them to raise yourself up. You reminded him of a lone wolf, sort of what he was like before he became Italy's friend during World War 2. Because he could relate to you, he could tell you were in a lot of pain. But if a complete stranger looked at you, they would be staring at an unfeeling statue. You gave no hints as to what you were feeling or thinking. It would be hard, but he was sure he could gain your trust.

Something just told him that he belonged at your side. It was a rather odd feeling, but it was one that he soon took a liking to.


	11. Chapter 11

America was thrown against the wall. Blood filled his mouth, and he quickly coughed it up before he drowned in it. A searing pain shot across his body. He wasn't even sure where the other had hit him. "Get up, you vorthlesh prick!" Prussia shouted. "Vhat's wrong? Did you zhink you vould get rid of me zhat easily?" Prussia walked over to him and grabbed the top of his blood-stained hair, yanking it upwards and forcing America to look him in the eye. "You're pathetic. I can't believe I vashted sho much time on you for nozhing." A flick of the wrist and America was thrown against another wall.

America couldn't move. He was too weak. Even lifting his head proved troublesome. He painfully pushed against his hand, sitting up against the wall. He looked up at his attacker with half-dead eyes. Prussia wasn't the same person he had known. This man was completely naked, save for a long black robe that seemed to fly in a make-believe breeze. What little part of his skin showed-his face, his neck, his hands and his legs-shone dully as if it emitted its own light. But what really could catch anyone's attention was the pair of fiery scarlet eyes that seemed to change emotions. Of the many they showed was hatred, vengefulness, anger; then there was sadness, pity, regret. America had never seen a more beautiful creature.

Prussia, it seemed, didn't seem to think the same of America. With a blank stare, he slammed his fist again and again into the American's face. And when he thought he was finished, he punched him once more before moving away from him. "Ich hasse dich," he spat.

Those three little words stabbed America and caused him more pain than he dared admit. Before America could stop himself, a stray tear left the corner of his eye. America understood exactly why this was happening to him. It was his fault. Both his eyes regained the shine of life and more tears started to fall down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Prussia turned and look back at him. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated over and over again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. To a loud country such as America, lowering his voice was an action of understanding. And America understood the superiority Prussia held against him.

Prussia eyed the other carefully. His gaze softened, and he moved over to America. "Hey." America stopped his mumbling and looked up, seeing Prussia kneeling right in front of him. "I forgive you."

America instantly felt relief falling onto him. All those years of worries and regret were taken from him the instant Prussia forgave him. He wiped the tears from his face and mumbled a rather silent "Thanks."

Prussia helped him up and gave him a serious look. "I know about Major _," he began. America looked away. "You're going after her for zhe wrong reasons... But if it vill make you shtrong again, I vill help you."

America came short of embracing the dead nation. Wait. Dead nation. Prussia was dead. How could he see him? How could he talk? The dead don't speak, as they say. America swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew he was treading deep waters in asking him, "Aren't you... dead?" He regretted asking.

Prussia's hatred flared up again. "No zhanks to you," he sneered. "After 1947, I shtayed vith Russia for a little bit. But in 1989, I completely dishappeared. No one could shee me. I could mashterbate on your face and you vouldn't know!" He smirked at this thought, as if it brought back memories. "Vell, I vas too bad for Heaven und Hell vas afraid I would take over," he shrugged. "Sho I vas shtuck in limbo. Und eventually I found zhis," he motioned to his long black cloak. "But my shtory shall be saved for anozher occasion, ja?"

America eyed the other carefully. He had so many questions. But the first that came to mind was the most important one. "Dude, did you jizz on my face?!" he shouted, feeling more grossed out by the second. He shuddered when Prussia shot him a smirk and shrugged. "Okay, gonna be hard to unsee that..." He looked at him closely. He looked cold, dead. He looked like Death himself. The only thing missing would be the long instrument of rapture.

Maybe it was hidden in that cloak.

America didn't know why he did it. He felt like a mischievous kid, and it resulted in him tugging as hard as he could on the cloak. It fell softly onto his body, like a million soft black feathers. He wormed his way through them and soon regretted what he saw. Prussia stood in the middle of the room, his porcelain skin glowing softly, just as he was brought to this world: naked. And there was no scythe.

Prussia walked over to America and took his cloak back, wrapping it around himself. "I'm going to pretend zhat never happened. Und you are going to forget it ever did." America couldn't agree more. "Now, if you vere looking for zhis," Instantly, the long blade of doom was at his neck, threatening to pierce the skin and send him to Hell. Prussia smirked. "Don't vorry. I alvays keep it handy."

America swallowed hard and tensed, loosening up only with Prussia removed the scythe from his neck. "Why are you helping me?" Prussia stayed quiet. "Everyone else has a thing for her. Even your brother. Why me?"

Prussia sighed. "She's vone of yours," he answered. "If she knew vhat you vere und every vone of zhose dumbasses proposed to her at zhe same time, she vould come running to you."

"Problem is, she doesn't know what we are. And I'm hoping I could keep it that way." America muttered. "She wouldn't believe me even if I told her."

Prussia threw his head back and cackled. "How little you know of zhe vorld! You zhink you know zhis girl. Your little file on her is cute, by zhe vay. But it is incomplete! Didn't England tell you?" America was more confused than ever. "I'll put it simply; vhat you are missing are zhe girl's mosht important part of her life. It's not her adulthood, vhere she vas most successful. It is her childhood vhere she created zhe most mistakes und lived life as she vanted, not as she vas told to! Do you even know vhat her favorite zhing to do as a child vas?" America shook his head. "Zhat is vhere you need to attack. Vhile zhe ozhers vill fight for her present und future, you need to fight for her pasht. You cannot be you vithout a pasht."

America was slowly starting to understand. "So what you're telling me is that her past is the key to her heart?"

Prussia shrugged. "Sure, in a more lovey vay of vhat I said. And you also have an advantage."

"Sweet!" America fist-pumped. "What is it?"

"Are you completely shtupid?!" Prussia shouted. America cringed back. "You are ZHE United Shtates of America. You have zhe right to valtz right into her office vhenever you feel like. You have zhe powver to promote her or relieve her of her duty. She serves you, in every sense of zhe vord."

It finally clicked. Prussia was right. If anything, he could always threaten you with a demotion or butter you up with a promotion. You were, in a sense, his to toy with. He shot Prussia a grin. "Thanks bro! I owe you one!"

"Nozhing you can do now vill get me vhat I vant," Prussia muttered bitterly. "Go forth, my child, und seize your prize und all zhat bullshit," he said, waving him away. America gushed and rushed off, a newfound confidence resonating through his being.

Prussia watched him go. He sat down on a chair and sighed. "It vas a mishtake to forget about us, _ _," he muttered. "I hope I'm not too late to shtop anozher devashtaking var..."


	12. Chapter 12

You held a paper in your hands, one that could define the United States as you knew it. It held a great many things, so you read it carefully. In short, civilian terms, it seemed the whole world was preparing for war. It was still too early to place bets and pick who would defeat who; they were just starting to build their armies. There was something suspicious going on in Japan, and something fearsome happening in Russia. Italy was daydreaming, as usual. But Germany, China, The United Kingdom... They were all gearing up for something.

Naturally, the United States of America had to respond. The paper was warning of a bill of would allow the United States to abandon it's START II treaty with Russia and exceed the limit of nuclear weapons it was allowed to have. The United States was going to build an arsenal that could rival Russia's, and it would only be a matter of time before a nuclear exchange. Of course, the chances of a nuclear exchange were already inevitable, and the time before then would shorten if the bill was no passed.

On a civilian point of view, it would soon be hell. Martial law would be declared at the start of war, to protect the civilians. There would be a curfew, and the National Guard would have permission to commence crowd control at the slightest sign of protestors. Because of Martial Law, people's lives will be lived for, and they would not get a chance to vote until it was lifted. The decisions will be made solely by the government.

You, as the head of Intelligence Department of the Air Force, had the job to investigate exactly what was going on in the rest of the world. You had plenty of contacts in a great number of contacts, and they were willing and ready to give you any information they could muster. As for the rest of the page, you didn't care.

Your orders were given, and you were not going to get into the legislature.

You quickly picked up the phone and called the country you deemed most dangerous: Russia.

After a few rings, there was a voice. "Privet' Comrade _."

"Privet', Comrade Tolkov," you stated as officially as you could. "What news have you from Moscow?"

"Nozhink out of zhe ordinary, comrade," the other answered.

"I just got a letter that says the Russians are thinking about war." You informed him.

"Da, zhere vas a bit of talk about zhat zhis mornink. Most of it is just rumors. But zhere have been anti-American propaganda everyvhere." His tone was flat. You knew something was bothering him.

"So what you're telling me is that the Russians want to declare war on the United States of America?" you asked incredulously.

"Da, it appears so," he muttered. "But zhat's not all." You waited to hear more. "I vill send you a fax. Zhis is somezhik you need to see, not hear."

You waited on the line patiently as the fax machine printed the document. It was a propaganda poster, similar to the ones from World War II. It was completly red, save for a few yellow details that emphasized what the poster was saying. In blocked Cyrillic was the words, "Odin Rossiyu!" It was something that struck as a surprise to you, where in others it would strike fear. You scanned the rest of the page, noting the only other thing that wasn't in red. It was a globe. But it looked different. It was blue, completely covered in water. The only thing that seemed to differ from a large blue circle was the only country painted on it: Russia.

You turned back to your comrade. "You're kidding, right?" you chuckled. "That's a sweet joke, but I doubt Russia will want to fight one country against the rest of the world."

"Believe it," Tolkov murmured bitterly. "Zhese posters are everyvhere. Russia is preparing for a full-scale var against the rest of the vorld. No allies, no foreign help."

The blook drained from your face. "Excuse me?" What an odd feeling. Instead of joy that your country's only rival would kill itself, you felt concern, even worry. "What are you saying, that Putin's gone crazy?"

"I zhink it's safe to say," Tolkov sighed. "Zhat all of Russia has gone crazy. Zhe people are screaming for zhis var to happen. Zhey zhink Russia is strong enough to defeat the entire vorld."

You slumped back in your chair. "Thanks, Tolkov." You hung up the phone. You felt as if a little piece of you had died, though you were still not sure why you felt that way.

You had to have answers. You called every contact you had and they all told you the same thing: Every country was preparing for a war against the world. It was going to be a World War on an untold scale. And you still did not know the motive. _What the hell could be so important to start a war against the world_? You searched through your mental arsenal of books about war, but you couldn't find one. Wars were started, in a natural sense, over politics. But then there were the medieval and ancient wars that were fought, not only for politics, but also for women. Nowadays, though, women weren't nearly as important as to start wars.

The door suddenly opened. It was your secretary. "Yes, Lieutenant?" you asked.

"There is an Army officer here to see you," he answered.

"I'm actually a little busy right now," you informed him, opting to continue your search for a motive.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it really can't wait."

You eyed the Lieutenant carefully. "Alright, send them in."

You pulled out your mirror and made sure your hair was neat and in its place, removing any lint that could have fallen on your coat, and sat straight up. It wasn't every day one branch of the military visited another branch. But you should have guessed it, seeing that the whole world was in chaos.

There was a slight knock on the door. You put your things away and straightened yourself one last time. "Enter," you called.

The door opened. "Good morning, Major _. I am the General of the United States Army, Jones. But you can call me Alfred." You felt the blood drain from your face again. "I believe we've met before."

You quickly regained your composure. "It's nice to see you again, Alfred." Was he the new General? You were not aware. "What can I do for you?"

Alfred closed the door behind him and approached your desk. "May I?" You nodded and he sat down neatly in front of you. "There are some things I would like to tell you, Major. But they require secrecy, even to the President of the United States of America."

Your mind told you not to trust him. Things hidden from the higher-ups could only spark anarchy. But your gut feeling told you to listen. "Things conducted in secrecy is tyranny, General. I would think you smarter than to prance around telling others these secrets."

"They're not secrets about the government, if that's what you're referring to," Alfred smiled. He looked very sick, as if he had come down with something since you last spoke to him. He was pale and his eyes didn't shine as bright as they used to. "They're personal secrets of mine."

You smiled. "General, I don't know you that well. How are you to know that I can keep your secrets?"

Alfred sat back and looked to the side, as if searching for answers. "Something just tells me that I should trust you."

How weird that you felt the same way. "Well then, I'll listen to you."

Alfred took a deep breath. It seemed he was nervous about something. His face suddenly got a little bit of color back, which you, in his pale state, assumed he was a blush. "What I want to tell you is something I've never told anyone before. So we'll play a game." He straightened up. "Tell me a little something about yourself and I will tell you a little something about myself."

You blinked. Was he serious? He wanted to play a game? You smirked. "Alright. What about me would you like to know? Bank account numbers? How long I've been in the military? What exactly is the Air Force all about?"

"Actually, I'd like to know about when you were younger, before the military."

You grew quiet. Your life before the military was blank, as usual. "I don't remember much about my civilian life before the military," you admitted. "It's like someone threw a switch and I forgot about a lot of things."

A worried look grew on his face. "Is there something that you remember specifically? Maybe if you saw it or talked about it you'll remember more."

You thought hard. You strained your brain, looking for something that might help you. There was something shiny in your mind. It was made of silver; you could tell because of the luster. It was small, about the size of a little black box that every girl wants her boyfriend to give her. It was a necklace, but the chain wasn't what you were focused on.

Suddenly you looked up. "I remember I bought a necklace for someone. She was close to me..." You kept thinking. There was something about that necklace that reminded you of something... or someone. "P..." you grimaced. "It started with a P.' Alfred stared intently, searching his own mind for something that could give him a hint into your past. But he stayed quiet, hoping you wouldn't lose your train of thought. Finally, you sighed and slumped back in your chair. "I don't know. This is crazy... All I know is that it was a necklace, and it was something pretty amazing."

"Was it like a pearl?" America guessed.

You shook your head. "No, it was made of silver..." you chuckled. "I remember buying for someone from the internet. It was around thirty dollars. Not much, but it was all I had back then, since I didn't have a job. And I remember giving it to her and she said 'Awesome!' or something like that..."

America stayed silent. He was sure that necklace had something to do with him. But just before he could say anything, his cell phone rang. "Excuse me," he muttered, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"America-san!"

"Yo, Kiku! How've you been?" Alfred smiled.

"Not good. I wanted to show you somesing," he breathed. "It's about Major _."

"Can it wait? I'm kind of in a meeting," America frowned.

"It is of greatest importance!" Japan insisted. "Prease..."

Alfred sighed. "Alright, I'll be right there." He hung up and turned to you. "I'm sorry about that. It seems I'm being called to Tokyo."

You cocked your head slightly to the side. "Tokyo?"

"Yeah. Something came up." He stood, straightening his coat. "I'd like to help you remember some more, but I really have to go. Is it okay if we see each other later?"

You smiled. "Yes, of course."

Alfred smiled softly. He was glad he was closer to you than anyone else.


	13. Chapter 13

_"I-Italy?" you said cautiously._

Italy looked up at you. "S-si, bella?"

A mixture of relief and extreme joy flashed across your eyes. "No way! You're freaking Italy! Oh my god, how is this possible?!" you exclaimed, helping Italy up and wrapping your arms around him. "Oh gosh, I can't believe Italy is in my room!"

"Ve?" Italy exclaimed, still not understanding. "B-bella, you know who I am?"

You let him go and nodded. "Of course I know! You're Italy Veneziano, one of the Axis Powers-well, from World War II, anyway. Now you're just Italy Veneziano."

Italy's head spun. "How do you know me?"

You rushed to the bookshelf and extracted a book. "You're, like, one of my favorite characters in Hetalia!" you gushed, showing him the book. On the front cover was a drawing of him, Germany, and Japan.

Italy was more confused than ever. "W-why am I in a book?"

You cocked your head slightly to the side. "Hm? Oh, because you're an anime character... Technically, you're not real..." you let your voice trail at the last sentence. Then, "But now that you're here, I can definitely prove to everyone that you're really real!" Suddenly, a thought crossed your mind. "Hey... does this mean that America's real, too?"

Italy was taken aback by your question. "We're all real, bella." You squeed and wrapped your arms around him again. Italy couldn't take it anymore. He could feel a pain in his chest, which meant that America's sickness was spreading again. "Why are you-a doing this to us?" he asked out of the blue.

You looked at him with an innocent expression. "Doing what, Italy?"

"You're hurting America! That hurts us, too!" he excalimed.

Tears filled your eyes. "I-I'm doing what?" Your voice cracked at the last word. You shook your head. "No, I would never hurt any of you! You're all I have in this world, why would I hurt you?"

Italy cringed; he didn't mean to make you cry. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have yelled at you..." He reached over and dried your tears. "America started getting sick, bella," he explained. "And now it's affecting all of us. We think you're doing-a something-but you might not even-a know it! S-so we want to know what you've been up to for the last few years."

You shivered. You didn't think you had been doing anything wrong. "I've been going to school..." you admitted. "No one really talks to me because they all think I'm crazy, talking about you guys all the time. But other than that, I've been at home and writing about you, drawing pictures of you... I didn't think I could have been hurting you... I'm sorry, Italy." More tears lined your eyes.

Italy bit his lip. He was finally understanding what it meant to read the mood. And, although he didn't like the feelings that came with it, he knew that it was absolutely necessary. But the more he thought about what you told him, the less everything seemed to make sense.

Italy was forced back out of his thoughts by the pelting rain. He looked around. "Bella?" he called. No one answered. The streets of Venice were empty except for a stray cat that was huddled under a wooden crate for shelter.

Italy made his way home as quickly as he could and dried himself off, removing his soaked clothes in exchange for warm dry ones. "So she used to know us?" he guessed. "I should probably tell Germany! Oh but..." Italy stopped and plopped down on his couch. "Germany wasn't-a really talking to me earlier... It's as if he wanted me to stay away from him... Japan was acting-a weird too... Who can I tell...?"

Italy was busy thinking of someone when he heard a knock on the door. "Coming!" he called, pulling a blanket around his shoulders. He opened the door and nearly fell backwards. "R-Russia!" he cried. "W-w-w-what are you doing-a here?"

Russia smiled, his hair and clothes wet from his trip. "Good evenink, Italy! I vas vonderink if maybe you voult let me inside? It's razher cold out here."

*~*

It was rather late, and you were just arriving at your home on base. You quickly closed the door behind you and set your things where they belonged, years of military training requiring you to be organized. You were rather tired, but you still had work to do, so you made a quick pot of coffee and turned your attention to the paper that had occupied your day. It was the same paper that declared Martial Law at the start of the war. You didn't even shudder; you thought it was what was best for your country.

You took a sip of coffee, the bitter-tasting liquid warming you up immediately.

_Crash!_

You looked up. That was the sound of glass breaking. Had someone broken into your house?

You acted quickly and pulled your M1911 from a kitchen drawer, making your way quietly toward the bedroom where you heard the noise. You breathed steadily, fully confident in your hand-to-hand combat skills, and entered the room. It was empty and everything was in order, save for a broken window. "Who's there?!" you shouted. Silence. "If you are armed I highly suggest you stand down!" you warned. More silence.

You moved to the closet, aiming your weapon at the doors. In one fell swoop, you opened the doors. It was void of relaxed a little, seeing that there was nothing in there that could harm you. A million explanations ran through your head, including one where someone's kid was playing catch and they threw the ball too hard in your direction. But most of them were immediately debunked due to certain circumstances. It was late, almost midnight, and no one should be awake at that time without acting suspicious.

Before you could fully relax yourself, you felt a presence behind you. You tried to calm yourself and held a good grip on your pistol. Time seemed to slow down as you felt an arm come across your chest, holding your body tightly. A hand covered in a cloth moved in front of your face, and you gasped; the strong, sweet scent of a liquid burned your lungs. You instantly knew what it was.

Chloroform.

You struggled against the strong arms that held you, finding yourself getting weaker by the second. The acid burned your skin, but you didn't care. You had to free yourself before you went under. You quickly slammed your thick black heels into the foot of your attacker and threw your head back as hard as you could, hitting the nose. A low grunt indicated it was male. You managed to free your arm and you started slamming your elbow as hard as you could into the other's chest.

But you soon felt distant. Your body didn't want to react to what you wanted it to do anymore. Your blows started becoming weaker and not as quick. The chloroform was taking its toll on you and you didn't even know who this person was.

The world turned black.


	14. Chapter 14

"Italy, it is important zhat you are to be tellink me everyzhing zhat you know about her." Russia smiled. The Italian had put up a good fight. But a country based on tourism was nothing compared to a country raised in a harsh environment that was used to, not only beatings, but landing strong and powerful blows on others. With a swift movement, Russia flicked the red liquid from his faucet pipe onto the once clean stone floor. "You are to be tellink me now, da?" He raised his pipe threateningly at the bloodied man below him.

Italy had blood running down his forehead. He closed his eye to stop the fluid from entering his eye. But the other looked up at the Russian with faltered gaze. He was scared of this man. It took all his strength to stop himself from shaking in his presence. He swallowed a lump in his throat as the cold metal caressed his neck. "W-what do you want to know?" he squeaked.

Russia smiled a little kinder and look down at his companion with compassion. "A little birdie told me you vere close to her before zhe military. I vant to know everyzhink about her."

Tears formed in Italy's eyes. Against his will to cry like a baby, they spilled over as he went over his routine of dropping to his knees and praying not to be slaughtered. "I know nothing about her! I just daydreamed a little with her, that's all!"

Russia's blood boiled. Not because Italy was denying knowing about you, but because he was daydreaming with you. _You_ were his to daydream with, not Italy's. You belonged to Russia, whether you liked it or not. His head started to hurt, and he swung his pipe across the air, striking it against the brick wall. The noise was deafening, but it got the Italian's attention. He shut up immediately. "Vhat exactly were you daydreamink about?" He raised the pipe to Italy once more. "And be careful vhat you say. It might be zhe last time you are to be speakink."

Italy hiccuped and quieted his tears. "I-I dreamed I was in her room..." he started quietly. "I was in-a her room and I heard her coming, so I hid in her closet. She... she was-a talking to America... But America wasn't with her. She was alone. And then I fell out of the closet... She wasn't acting like she normally would. She was like a teenager! When she saw who I was, she jumped up an hugged me." Russia's eye twitched. "A-and then I told her she was-a hurting us... She didn't know she was-a doing anything bad, though..." Italy hiccuped again. "Th-that's it."

Russia was relieved that Italy hadn't messed with you in his head. More blood would have had to be spilled, if otherwise. But now his head was swimming with the new information he had acquired. What did it mean when Italy said you acted like a teenager? Or when you were clueless as to what was causing the countries such pain? He would have to think very carefully about his next move. But for now, it was time to torment other countries. Time was running out and he had to bully the weak to make sure they would stay out of his way for the duration of the war.

*~*

A searing pain shot through your body as you realized you weren't dead. Your head was spinning. Your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you saw was your lap and the tight ropes that held you to a chair. You were exactly as you last remembered; clothed in your military uniform and barefoot. But the weight on your head told you your hair wasn't in it's neat little bun. It was a little thing, really, but having your hair loose was bothering the hell out of you. You twitched your arm, hoping you could fix your hair, but your binds were stronger than the little strength you had in your body. You looked up and found yourself in a dark room covered in shadows. There was a single lamp above your head, bathing you in a bright white light.

Suddenly someone shuffled toward you. Your attention turned to the noise and you wet your lips, opting to stay quiet. "This is first time you've been captured by enemy and you act as if it something you do on daily basis, aru," a cheerful voice greeted you. From the shadows a handsome man with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail emerged. You weren't fazed, even if you knew this man. "Not talking, aru?"

You smirked. You were going to play the most played card in the game. "Where am I? Who are you? What are you going to do with me?" you asked, your tone smothered in sarcasm and almost bored.

"Cute~" he smiled. "I suppose I can keep you tied there until everything dies down and everyone thinks you're dead. But I'd very much like to talk to you, aru."

"I gave you three questions you still need to answer," you smart-assed.

Yao laughed, his giggle chiming through the room. "You're in a dark room, I am who I am, and I have captured you, aru." He could play along. His face suddenly got serious. "I have a close friend, and you are hurting him. I'd very much like you to stop, aru."

You scoffed. "Look, I don't even know who you're talking about, but I can assure you I have never physically attacked anyone. I can't promise you about their mental health, though."

Yao sat on the floor in front of you, cross-legged. He rested his chin in his hand. "I don't think that right, aru. It's not just him you're hurting. You're hurting me, too, aru."

You glared at him, unamused. "Okay, now I know you're lying."

"Are you aware that you and I are completely different, aru?" You eyed him carefully as he continued, "I'm not talking about personality, though we might be a bit different in that aspect, aru. There are people in this world who are not people at all. Yet we live among you for centuries. You couldn't tell; our youth is well preserved, aru."

A dark chuckle escaped your lips. "You're crazy, you know that? If you're going to go on a monologue about aliens of the fountain of youth, spare me. I've heard countless stories."

He smiled, quite amused at you playing along with his guessing game. "Aliens exist, aru. You know that. The fountain of youth exists. It's in Venezuela. You know that too, aru. But that is not what I am trying to explain to you.

"There are beings that have lived for years and years and never die, aru. They have fought in countless wars for their country. They are the most patriotic and the most loyal. They could teach you secrets of their country you would have never heard otherwise. And yet their names are not in the registrar of citizens. That is because in actuality, these beings do not exist."

You gasped, almost sarcastically. "So Captain America is real?!" you exclaimed, throwing your head back and laughing yourself silly. "Oh man! Get me out of here so I can get an autograph. We're not kids. These beings don't exist because they never really did. There's no Toothfairy, there's no Easter Bunny, and there's no superheroes. I'm not a child whose mind you can bend to believe what you want."

Yao sighed. "I know it is hard to believe me, aru-"

"Harder still, because you kidnapped me," you snapped.

"But you must," he continued, ignoring the fact that you interrupted him. "If you don't the world as we know it will change forever."

"The world is already changing," you smirked. "Every single country is mobilizing for war and you don't even know it."

Yao smiled. "I know it. China is already preparing for it as well, aru. Without any allies, though, much of the world will be destroyed."

Your eyes widened. "How could you possibly-"

"I also know the causes of this war." You eyed him carefully. His eyes were truthful. "I will be happy to tell you, aru."

You bit your lip. "You can't get something for nothing," you sighed. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop hurting America." His voice was low and even, barely louder than a whisper.

"Hurting America? I _live_ for America. I serve her. I only wish to protect her."

The corner of his lip shot up, smirking at his own internal joke. "_He_ is badly hurt. And we all know it's something you did. You see, if America is in pain, I feel it too, because of my ties to your country, aru"

"_She_ is perfectly fine. In fact, America is prepared for whatever commie attacks you decide to throw at us." Your voice dropped low, almost threateningly. "You'd better watch your back. Whatever you throw at us will be thrown back ten-fold."

Yao smiled and took a pocket knife from his boot, flashing the shiny metal around. "You'll soon learn that the United States is the strongest country in the world." In a flash, he swung the blade up, and you felt your ropes falling at your sides. "But China is the one that controls him."


	15. Chapter 15

_Tokyo_

America stood staring at the page Japan had just given him. "This is..."

"Hai," Japan said with a serious expression on his face. "I wasn't rearry paying attention at what I was doing. I was in comprete otaku mode..." Japan shook a blush away from his face. "I sought it would be fair to show sihs to you. Even soh I have no idea where she courd have gotten an image of me..."

America was only partially listening to what Japan was telling him. In his mind he was piecing things together, though he was having trouble. Did you know Japan when you were younger? If so, where and when did you meet him? What kind of relationship did you have with him? America started turning red, but it wasn't because of his growing fever. He didn't want to think about anyone being so close to you. "Thanks, bro..." he said quietly.

Japan looked at America curiously. It wasn't easy seeing how interested he was in you. But from one otaku to another, he could sense something was wrong. He pulled out his sketchpad and showed America one more picture. "I happened to dream about him rast night. Somesing terrs me sihs wirr not be an easy battre for you."

America looked up only briefly. His expression changed in the blink of an eye, from worry to rage. Japan had never seen America so wild, not even during the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagaski (to be honest, Japan thought he looked more like a cocky asshole.) It frightened him, but he didn't let America know.

America didn't even bother to thank Japan for the information. He stormed out of the mangaka's studio as fast as his feet could carry him, on his way to wherever he needed to go. Japan looked back down at the picture of his brother holding a rather attractive woman, the same that was drawing a picture of him on her laptop. He sighed and called for his jet. "I'm sorry, America-san. But China is my brosah, and I cannot betray him..." Japan smiled a little to himself.

"Even if he is an asshore."

*~*

_Somewhere in China_

Needless to say, you were not at all happy. Your room was red. Red. Your beautiful blue uniform was exchanged for a red hanfu with yellow embroidery. Red. With yellow.

You felt sick to your stomach. Red and yellow together were certainly asthetically pleasing to the eye. And the hanfu was gorgeous, to say the least. But _red_ and _yellow_...

The colors of Communism.

You knew this Wang Yao guy was trying to get into your head. He burned your uniform right before your eyes so you had no reason to try to find it. Everything in your wardrobe had something to do with the colors red and yellow, even if they were only seen on a single tiny flower. Fortunately, you weren't one to show much skin to begin with, so you were quite happy that all the dresses were rather long instead of short like the ones you had seen on TV.

In that one episode... of that one anime...

Wait, what?

"Anime? What?" you thought aloud. You had never seen an anime, and if you had you would remember it. So why did you suddenly think you used to watch anime?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a slight knock on the door. "It's me, aru!" a cheerful voice really didn't want to see anyone, and you especially didn't want anyone to see you dressed like a... _commie_... But you sighed and walked up to the door, finding it a little hard to open it since the sleeves were a little too long. "Yes, how may I help you?" you answered, stepping out into the red (ew) hallway.

China gasped and his eyes lit up when he saw what you were wearing. It complimented your hair and your skin, but most of all your eyes. "Cute!" he cried, resisting the urge to hug you. "You look absolutely adorable, like Chinese porcelain doll, aru!"

You had no idea why you felt your face turn red. Wearing something like this was infuriating, but when China called you cute... You brushed the thought away. It was probably just a coincidence. "Is there something you need?" Your voice was a little softer than you would have liked. What the hell was wrong with you? Where was your strict demeanor?

China handed you a cellphone with a huge smile on his face. "I was just talking to Alfred and I told him you were with me. He wants to talk to you, aru."

What game was he playing? Giving you the phone was practically ruining his chances of winning, especially if he needed you to stay with him that badly. You took the phone cautiously, unable to stop the tremble in your voice. "H-hello?"

"_! God, I'm so glad you're okay.. Where are you? I'm coming to get you right now! Did they hurt you?"

You couldn't find your voice, so instead you caught yourself shaking your head. Tears welled up in your eyes. Just hearing America's voice brought you a feeling of safety, and it felt a little odd to you. "N-no, they've been kind to me," you finally managed. "I'm-I'm fine, really."

"Listen, if they ask you for any information-"

"You underestimate my abilities to keep quiet, General." You chuckled lightheartedly, sensing his tension and preferring to keep things light.

"Tell them everything."

You froze. You felt the blood drain from your face. "That is impossible."

"Do as you are told! Nothing will happen to you, I guarantee it. I don't want you getting hurt. I'd rather send the United States to Hell!"

For some odd reason, his statement pulled at your heartstrings. Had it been any other American, you were certain to throw a fit and lecture them about their unpatriotic ways. But coming from this particular American, it felt different. Somehow, you felt so loved and so missed, more than you had ever felt before.

Was this how it felt to have a... _family_?

"Major?" a frantic Alfred cried.

"Hm? O-oh, yes, I'm still here." You couldn't stop the butterflies from erupting.

"I'll be there soon. That fucking commie won't know what hit him. You can be sure of that."

The line went dead.

Like a robot, you handed the phone back to China, who was looking quite curiously at you. "Are you alright, aru?"

It took you a moment to recompose yourself. Suddenly, you felt a low rumbling in the ground. Time slowed. China's face changed from worry to horror, and he jumped at you. The wall behind him exploded, sending large chunks of cement and debris flying everywhere. Instinctively, China wrapped himself around you, shielding you from the explosion and rubble. You expected to land roughly on your back but you never touched the floor. China was on his knees, cornering you against the wall. He supported himself by placing his hands on either side of you. You could see him shaking with every piece of cement that hit his back, until finally the rumbling stopped.

Your instinct told you to run. Something that could knock a wall that thick down couldn't be anything less than a tank or an RPG. You stood quickly and pulled at China's arm, wanting him to stand. "We have to get out of here, let's move!" you commanded.

China looked up at you with a painful smile. "You go, aru. I'm afraid I'm stuck..."

You followed his other arm and found he was right. A rather large piece of concrete had crushed his hand against the wall. You gave him a determined look and started pushing against the rock. "I don't know about China," you started, pushing as hard as you could. "But in America, _nobody_ get's left behind." Almost. He was almost free. You could see the red blood staining the marble floor, and it only made you push harder. Finally, his hand twitched out of the way, and you let the boulder fall back. You wrapped China's injured arm around your neck, keeping it fairly elevated, and held his waist, lifting him up. "You saved my life. I can only return the favor," you whispered. Your voice was soft and it reflected your gratitude. "Thank you..."

A tall shadow covered the two of you. "Now what?" you muttered. Your eyes shot up to see what was obstructing the light. But you found your eyes traveling higher and higher until finally they rested on a rather childish face with the cruelest pair of eyes you had ever encountered.

"I knew I voult to be findink you here, _dorogaya_!" the tall man smiled.

"R-Russia..." China spat the blood from his mouth onto the floor. "I knew you would come, aru! What do you think you are doing?"

Russia smiled and easily knocked him down and stole you away. "I came to be gettink vhat belonks to me, da."

"I don't belong to anyone!" you shouted, trying to free yourself from his grip. It was futile, but nothing was ever gained from not trying.

"Da, little vone, you belonk to me now." He flashed you a rather kind and charming smile.

"I belong to the United States of America!" you protested. "Better dead than red!"

Russia looked a little sad for a second before perking up again. "I'm not Communist anymore, da?" Out of the corner of your eye you saw him pull out a shiny black weapon and point it at China. "I shoult kill you now, da? Before you become problem for me."

Another low rumbling could be heard approaching fast. Russia looked up and clicked his tongue. "Oh vell. I'll have to kill you some other time." He replaced his pistol and tucked you safely under his arm, racing fast through the ruined building. No matter how hard you fought to free yourself from him, it made no difference. A deafening humming finally made him stop in his tracks. A bright spotlight shone from above, and you instantly knew it was a helicopter.

"Put the girl down, wanker!" a British accent demanded of the tall Russian.

Your companion did not look at all pleased, and he all but flung a huge chunk of concrete at the metal bird. "Come and get her." He growled and took off running toward the city streets, with you still struggling in his grip.


	16. Chapter 16

_Somewhere in China_

Russia pressed his back against the wall of an alley. He cautiously looked behind him, holding his breath. His chest, which was moving at a rapid pace, was stalled for at least a minute. When he was satisfied, he breathed out and leaned against the brick building. You were amazed at the large man's speed and endurance. He was able to outrun and outfox an angry Englishman in a helicopter, all while carrying you in his arms, despite the fact that you were trying to get free. At this particular point in time, he set you down and didn't grasp you as he caught his breath. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he wiped it off with a gloved hand.

Your instincts told you to run. He was tall and intimidating, and he was strong enough to do whatever he wanted with you. But the empty cavity in your chest told you he would never even dream of hurting you (other than kidnapping you, of course.)

"Da, I think ve lost them." Russia flashed a playful smile in your direction.

You couldn't bring yourself to smile back, though. "Can I go now? I have someone waiting for me to take me home."

"Oh, you mean America-kun?" Russia asked, his face looking much like a child denied a cookie.

"_Alfred_," you corrected him.

Russia looked a little hurt, his eyes drifting to the floor. But they soon perked up as if he didn't want you to see his weak self. "America-kun's plane crashed into the Pacific a little vhile ago. It vas shot down by anti-aircraft guns, da."

Something dug into your chest and slowly moved around, pain searing through your body. "W-what? How-"

"I saw it." Russia sounded as if you should have known that, but then remembered he was special, and he smiled once more. "Normally, America-kun voult be able to survive crash like that. But given his illness..." His voice trailed off and his face was painted with pain and worry.

"L-look," you began. "I don't know what's going on. I don't care if you call yourself 'Russia', or if you call Alfred 'America', but I really, really need to get back to my desk." You held you hand out to him. "So, thank you so much for rescuing me, but you'll understand my urgency."

A childish giggle escaped his lips. It was cute, at first, and then it started sounding threatening. "Vhat is to be makink you think I'm goink to be letink you go so easily, _dorogaya_?" Russia moved forward and backed you up against the dead-end wall of the alley. His tall frame towered much higher over yours. You were a very brave woman, and you were not afraid of this man. But being cornered with no plausible way out made you a little uncomfortable and your fight-or-flight instinct was beginning to kick in. "You are very important person, da. You are important to America, but also to China, Japan, Germany, and even me. I still don't know vhy I am so... _attracted_ to you. Certainly, you are beautiful, but you are to be _human_. Vhat is it about you that is makink us countries fight each other like rabid dogs?"

Your heart pounded in your chest so loud you swore your companion could hear it. You wanted to protest, but you found yourself silent and believing every word he said. You wet your lips but no sound escaped them other than your frantic breathing. Russia smirked down at you and lifted your face, lowering his to your level. "Maybe we really are just fightink over the beauty of a single voman. But no... Somevone like you is certainly very special, to everyvone..."

It was cold. It was so very cold. But it was also warm-so bright the sun would be jealous. It was sweet and soft, but also hungry and needy. Cooled and heated, like Autumn and Spring. It gave you butterflies, in the good way, and you almost melted.

It wasn't until Russia pulled away that you realized he had given you the best damn kiss you had ever received.

Your cheeks lit up and you were trembling. Someone actually crossed your personal boundary and kissed you. You mentally shut down; you weren't sure what to do at this point. You took it to basics and decided you had three choices. You could stammer like a typical junior high girl. You could yell at him for daring to soil your pure body. Or you could run away.

You looked around inconspicuously and found the smallest opening between his body and the wall.

Option three, then.

You bit your lip and looked up at him seductively, tangling his fingers in his soft blonde hair. Your sudden change in attitude seemed to catch him off guard and you took advantage of the moment, tightening your grip on his hair and pulling his head down, raising your knee fast and slamming it into the bridge of his nose. You quickly pushed him away before he could retaliate and lifted the skirt of your dress, delivering a well-placed kick across his face. Russia stumbled backwards a little before you threw him to the ground and forced your fist into his diaphragm. You looked up in front of you and saw freedom as you had often fought for it. You held your dress and quickly ripped the skirt, giving you more freedom to move around quickly without tripping over it.

You ran.

You knew you weren't safe in China, wherever you were. No, you were certain you weren't even safe in America. If what the Russian said was right, this new breed of World War would be the new War to End All Wars in that there would soon be no countries to fight said wars. People would be killing each other for no real purpose, other than one simple woman who just happened to have no significant importance in the world besides being a Major of the Air Force. _There are plenty of other, more worthy females to fight wars over_, you thought as you ran, dodging into buildings to build the distance between you and your pursuers. _Like Angelina Jolie, Megan Fox, or even Nicole Fucking Kidman!_ You finally rested on the second floor of a rundown building. You leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, throwing your head back and resting your arms on your knees. "Why me?" You groaned. "Why did this happen to me? I never wanted to be the cause of global chaos. I wanted to stop global chaos! So _why the fuck_ is this happening to me?"

Your mind took you to the lounge of way back when. He was rather handsome, despite the fact that he looked a little under the weather. He bought you a pear and lavender martini while he settled for a brandy. Your conversation was interrupted when a rather large group of men walked in and began introducing themselves to you.

You traveled forward a bit and you were in a coffeehouse enjoying the company of a gentle Englishman. You were late for work that day, so you had to leave a bit early.

A little more and you were with Alfred once again. He was helping you remember things you had long since forgotten. He had to leave abruptly.

Just a few hours back, a Chinese man saved your life at the cost of his hand and perhaps his life. How was he, anyway?

Now, you remembered so vividly the kiss the tall Russian left you with. It gave you a warm tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach. You kind of wished it hadn't ended so soon.

You scoffed at the feelings your chest was mass-producing. "Wake up, Major," you muttered to yourself, banging your head lightly against the wall behind you. You wanted to sleep. But the sun disappearing over the horizon told you you had to stay awake. Nighttime was the best time to travel, especially if you were dressed as you were at that moment. The empty room proved fruitless for spare clothes so it would have to do for now. "Besides..." You chuckled lightly. "Those countries could probably spot me faster than they could find Waldo-"

You froze. Did you really just call them countries? You shook the idea from your head and stared at the setting sun.

"Just a few more hours."

*~*

Russia finally recovered from the bloody mess you left him. He sat up and held his nose in his hands. In a swift movement, he replaced the cartilage to its original place and blew out the blood from his nose. He stared off in the direction you had run off to and smiled. "It's good to know my dorogaya can handle herself, da." He stood up and steadied himself against a wall of the alley. "But it's dangerous... If I don't have her soon, somevone might try to steal her avay, da..."

_Click._

Russia looked up with half-hazed eyes. A cruel smile appeared on his face. "You're in this too?" He stared down the barrel of the gun, his weak body threatening to fall onto the floor.

"You're a mess, not even vorth vashting a bullet."

Russia was on the floor again. He coughed out blood, watching as it splattered on the floor. He chuckled quietly at first, and then with growing intensity. "You maybe be stronker than me now, Germany. But don't be forgettink the last var so easily, da? You could never and vill never defeat me."

Germany shooed away Russia's remark and looked in the direction he saw the other staring after. "She vent zhat vay."

Russia flashed Germany a deadly glare. As if the thought of Germany beating him to you revived him, he lept at him and pinned him against the floor, his faucet pipe pushing down on his neck hard. "If you dare touch her, I vill skin you and feed it to your dogs."

Russia's low voice rumbled in Germany's ears. "Lich mein ballsch," Germany smirked.

Russia rammed his fist into Germany's face, cracking the asphalt beneath his head, though Germany escaped with little more than a broken nose. He didn't bother with a witty remark; he raised himself and took off in your direction, his faucet pipe disappearing into thin air as he unsheathed a shiny black pistol from within his long trench coat. The old weapon was still as trustworthy as when he first used it, and he was going to make sure he reached you first at any cost.


	17. Chapter 17

You were jerked awake by an unseen force.

It was quite dark outside. You swore and looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh-one-hundred..." you muttered, a sense of relief washing over you. You looked around for the thing that woke you, but you couldn't see anything. "Strange... It felt like a cold hand touched me..."

You stood and dusted the ripped red hanfu, the satin worn and faded. "...sesese..."

You jumped. "Fucking snake!" you breathed. You looked around for the little reptile but found none. "Okay... I'm severely creeped out..." you admitted aloud.

"You should be, Frau," a heavily accented voice purred into your ear.

The voice took you by surprise, but you were quick and you pulled your elbow back hard, hitting someone in the face. You heard a groan behind you and immediately placed your foot defiantly on your attacker's chest. "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?" were the first three questions that escaped your lips.

The intruder found it surprising that he was dropped on the floor. But he quickly made up for it, pushing you into the air and catching you in his arms. The moonlight shone on his translucent face. It made his white hair shimmer like snow, and a pair of fiery red eyes looked at you in a very seductive way. "Don't vorry, I'm not here to hurt you. I came to help." Your face flushed red. He was leaning over you in a very tango-like dip. Did he not know the meaning of "personal space?"

You pushed him aside and stood back up, straightening yourself again. "I see, you part of the special force team led by Mr. Jones, am I correct?" You eyed him up and down. He certainly didn't look like special forces. He was wearing a fluttery black robe and no pants. No shoes, for that matter. And he wasn't carrying a weapon, either. "Or, you could be trick-or-treating, I got it. Look, I don't have time for you, I've got to get back home."

Your companion choked out a hearty laugh. "You shtill don't get it, do you, Frau?" From beneath his cloak, a long silver blade carried on a shimmery black pole revealed itself. The blood drained from your face as you realized what it was. You were so scared you didn't even bother to wonder how on earth that could have fit in that little cloak. Prussia saw the look on your face and smiled. "Sho. Now ve are undershtanding."

"I-I can't be dead... N-no way!" You shouted. "If I die, the whole world goes to hell! I don't know what they're capable of doing, but I know at least ten of them have an entire nuclear arsenal! America's alone would destroy everything!"

"Don't vorry, you're not dead... yet." Prussia smirked. "And even if you vere at your time, I don't zhink I could bring myself to kill you."

"Not you, too..." you groaned, covering your face in your hands. "Look, I barely know any of you, so why the hell are you all so into me?"

Prussia's signature smirk disappeared from view. He looked away, frowning. "I don't know." His eyes flashed back up. "Vould you like to find out?" He held a powder-white hand out for you to take.

You eyed him carefully. His body language told you he was being sincere. But his eyes gave him away. Something inside you told you that he was going to hurt you if you weren't careful. You just didn't know what it was. Or maybe you were being paranoid because you had never seen anyone stare at you with such intensity. You moved forward ever so slightly and held your hand out, hesitating a bit. "I feel like I'm making a pact with the Devil..."

Prussia chuckled softly. "Close, but so far." He took your hand and held you close to his body, lifting your face to his.

You felt your face heat up as he moved in, and immediately placed a hand softly up to his lips. "What do you think you're doing?" you whispered, mentally kicking yourself for being so soft.

"You said you vanted to find out, ja?" Prussia said through your fingers.

Fuck. "J-just a little, then..." you blushed.

He smiled softly and brushed his lips against yours. It was slow at first. But it started growing in intensity. Things were getting pretty heated before he pulled away, leaving you gasping for breath.

"I-I don't feel any different..." you muttered, trying to compose yourself.

"Nein?" Prussia asked innocently. "Maybe ve should try again~"

You caught on to his trick and slammed a fist in his face. "Asshole! What the fuck was that for?" you shouted, wiping your mouth roughly.

Prussia wiped the blood from his nose and chuckled darkly. "Gut, Frau. You actually made zhe Aweshum Me bleed!" He picked his legs up and sat Indian-style in mid-air, his scythe the only thing anchoring him from moving further up. "You really are as amazhing as zhey say."

"What are you talking about?" You glared at him, a not-too-happy expression on your face.

"You. Your person, your personality, your innocence are all somezhing I favor." You cringed, threatening another attack on him. "Vell, I shay me... You've got everyvone running after you, Frau. I didn't even have to kiss you to know vhat kind of person you vere." He was suddenly behind you, his scythe at your neck. You froze, sure that he was going to kill you for punching him. _Whatever, he deserved it_. "Do you shtill vant to see?" You swallowed a lump in your throat and nodded slowly. Prussia smirked and drove the blade through your heart.

*~*

England stalked the city streets, desperately looking for you. He passed crowds of people, giving them each a split second look, but none of them contained who he was looking for. It was great to be a country. Your mind worked faster and harder than a supercomputer, if you willed it so. But it had its defects. For one, you were not a citizen of the United Kingdom, and that was a drawback to anyone who was not the United States. While he had to manually look for you, America could just march in any direction and find you, no matter where you hid. But America was no where near him. England had watched his plane crash into the Pacific. Given his health status, it would be difficult for him to make a quick recovery.

"England!"

England froze. "Well, speak of the bloody devil..." he muttered.

America was completely soaked. He looked worse than when he was on Normandy all those years ago. He was pale, the sickness taking its toll on him. His eyes were dim, but they burned with fury. Blood stained his clothes and skin. It was amazing that he was still standing. "Go home, England! I don't want to have to hurt you!"

"You? Hurt me?" England laughed. He stopped when he felt a searing pain in his chest. It was starting to affect him, too. "You watch too much television, Alfred. You're too injured to fight, so you might as well go home."

"Like hell I will!" America shouted. He coughed and blood splattered onto the floor, his lips staining red. "You might as well give up. She belongs to me."

"You still think she will fall in love with you?" he shouted.

"She's married to _me_! She'll never fall in love with _you_!"

England landed a blow to America's face, effectively dropping him to the ground in his weak state. "You know what's funny, I can't believe I didn't kill you when I first saw you! You've been a huge thorn in my side, lately."

"You... wouldn't have killed... a little kid..." America spat through his coughs.

"Wouldn't I have? Goes to show how little you know me." England bent down to America's level, his head rested in his hand. "If I would have known you would have destroyed my empire and taken my supremacy, I most certainly would have ended your life before it began."

"But'cha didn't..." America chuckled darkly, trying to get back up.

England gave him an entertained smirk and placed a finger on America's back, pushing him back onto the ground with ease. "You're so weak now... I wonder who really holds the power in this world?"

"That voult be me."

England looked up to see a silhouette in the distance advancing toward them. The tails of his scarf fluttered effortlessly behind him, and a dangerous expression was painted on his face. "Please to be leavink. I am to be takink _ home vith me."

"You, of all people?" England laughed. "The last time I saw you, you were getting your ass kicked by a rather handsome Englishman!"

"Leave the conceitedness to Prussia-kun. If I remember correctly, your face was crushed vith a vall," Russia snarled. "Do as you're told, and you can go home safe, da."

"Please, it's more likely she'll fall for any other country than you!" England chuckled darkly. "You are the epitome of Communism, even if you're not anymore! Everyone will remember you for being a Communist, no matter how hard you try to convince others that you're not!"

Russia smiled rather sadly. He knew England was right. There was nothing he could do in that aspect. And he knew that you were democratic and you hated Communism. That meant that even if he had you, there would always be that doubt between the two of you. He felt hollow and his heart threatened to pop out of his chest again. But he held it in. He imagined you happy and smiling, glad that he was with you. He intended to change the most important thing about you-your last name. And he wasn't going to give up.

"I don't care vhat it voult take. I love her, and I voult give all my lands to have her in my arms."

England frowned. "So be it.


	18. Chapter 18

You couldn't feel anything. Not in the sense that you were numb, but you couldn't feel anything around you. There was no wind, no force that would sway you. You couldn't even feel the ground; your feet felt like they were dangling. But you weren't falling either.

Your eyes slowly opened and you stared into the most amazing view you had ever seen. All around you, a sea of diamonds glimmered brightly by the light they produced. Some of them were lonely and they stayed far apart. But most of them were in clusters. Each one was different, if not a different shape, and they shimmered bright blue and fiery red. You had only really seen sights like this on the television, or in magazines. Sometimes, you would indulge yourself on the computer and dream about seeing this with your own eyes, protected by a marshmallow suit.

You were in Space.

But it was different. You weren't cold. You were still wearing the red hanfu, but you weren't cold. And you didn't have a mask on. Your face paled when you realized you were in Space without oxygen. You held your breath, hoping you would live at least two more minutes, looking at the beautiful galaxies ahead of you. But a familiar man in a fluttery black cloak moved in front of you, blocking your view. You frowned at him, your face turning blue from lack of oxygen.

Prussia chuckled darkly. "You can breazhe here. You're not affected by zhe lack of oxygen as long as you're vizh me."

You eyed him carefully, but decided that it was best to trust him, since your only other option was to die. You opened your mouth and inhaled the sweet air that was promised to you. You smirked. "So you really _are_ the Grim Reaper."

Prussia mimicked your smirk. "My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt. But you can call me 'Aweshome'."

Beilschmidt. You had heard that before. "You wouldn't be related to Ludwig, right?" you asked none-too shyly.

A sad look appeared on Prussia's face and he looked away. "He is... _vas_ my bruder. My little bruder."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to comfort him. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"It's not your fault, you vouldn't have known, given your current shtate," he said coldly.

"Current state?" you repeated.

Prussia smiled and watched your amazment as large screens flew over you, circling you. Each one was different; it showed you different people and you heard different languages. Then, they stopped, moving in slow alternating rows. "What is this?" you breathed.

You felt Prussia's fingers lace around yours. "It's your memories," he said softly. You looked up at him, not minding the closeness. Your eyes were wide and full of wonder. Prussia held your hand tighter and you felt yourself being lifted. All around you, the screens were moving down-or rather, you were moving up. You floated upwards for a few seconds before Prussia came to a slow stop. He reached forward with his scythe and hesitated until the right screen came into his view. The razor-sharp weapon emitted a blinding light from its end. The memory expanded, trying to engulf you, eating away at Space. But it could not move any further toward you than Prussia allowed it to.

A girl with your hair and eyes was wearing a beautiful dress covered in glitter. She was moving slowly back and forth to a beautiful song. Her hands were up on an invisible shoulder and in an invisible hand. She was blushing pink and smiling in her solitude. She appeared to be in a living room, though the furniture had been moved up against the walls to make room for her dance.

"Um, Gilbert?" you asked, looking up at the albino.

"Shh," Gilbert prompted you. His eyes were closed, and his head swayed ever so slightly with the tempo of the music, a small smile on his face as the sweet melody filled his ears.

"Did you like your surprise?"

Your eyes shot back to the girl in front of you. She was still alone, but you were certain that was a man's voice you had just heard. "Yeah... You really made today special for me, Alfred." You watched in amazement as a man appeared in front of the girl, holding her in a waltz. He was a little transparent, but he was glowing golden and covered in golden shimmer dust. The gravity of the room didn't affect him; he moved and his hair would slowly follow, the cowlick moving as if in water. His hair would bounce slowly down, as if it were floating. You looked up at Gilbert, but before you could protest, he hushed you again.

You looked back at the memory. Alfred was smiling. "I couldn't leave you alone on a day like this! You only turn sixteen once, darlin'!"

The girl giggled ad wrapped her arms around him, stopping their slow dance. "You're so sweet, America... Why can't there be more guys like you?"

"There's only one me, darlin'," he said softly, resting his chin on her head and holding her close.

"Yeah, but you're the only one that wanted to spend time with me today," she whispered. Something started digging into your chest at her words. A feeling of warmth came over you. You didn't question why the General of the Army was dancing with this girl on her sixteenth birthday; the fuzzy feeling of being wanted flowed through you, and you enjoyed every second of it.

Prussia looked down at you and smiled to himself. He tugged at your hand and you were propelled downward, gathering speed very quickly. Your hair flew in front of your face, and you felt the pressure of gravity in your chest. You saw a passing memory of a man with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail teaching the girl some form of martial arts. You wanted to watch, but Gilbert stopped before he went too far, and you floated right alongside him. Another memory was forming in front of you. This time, the same girl was sitting on a bed in a different room. She was holding a parcel in her hands, and a look of excitement was painted on her face. "Hey, Julchen!" she called.

A strikingly beautiful woman with long. snowy white hair and big red eyes burst into the room on command. Her smirk made the long scar on her face distort into its own creepy grin. "Did somevone call zhe Awesome Me?" she chuckled.

"Guess what?" the girl asked in a sing-song voice.

"Vas?" Julchen asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She moved to the bed and sat down next to her.

"Close your eyes!" the girl smiled. Julchen looked at her, suspicious, but she complied. The girl in the memory turned her back to you, so you couldn't see what she was doing. But it was clear, by the sound of ripping paper, that the parcel was being opened. She turned back around with one hand over the other, as if she held a butterfly delicately behind them. "Okay, open them!"

Julchen's eyes fluttered open and they rested on the girl's hands. The hands slowly opened to reveal a pile of silver. You couldn't see much details on it, but Julchen's eyes held tears in them. "Frau..." she cooed, holding the little pile of silver.

"It's not pure silver but..." the girl laughed nervously, scratching the back of her head.

Julchen didn't care. She was quick to undo the pile and tie the necklace behind her back. A silver iron cross dangled from the delicate silver chain.

A silver iron cross...

"It's AWESOME!" Julchen snickered, sounding something like 'kesesesese.'

Awesome? Where did you...?

Suddenly, you felt as if your head would pop off your shoulders. You pulled back away from the memory, letting go of Prussia's hand. You held your head, groaning in pain. Different scenes were being played in your mind. A tall man with purple eyes stole your first kiss. A Frenchman made you a delicious quiche. You toured London with a Brit that had amazing green eyes. You hid from a German with an Italian. You talked nerd and otaku with a Japanese man. And...

And you told a certain American that you wanted to marry him.

"Frau?" an exasperated Prussian called out to you. He held your shoulders, frantically asking you what was wrong.

You suddenly stopped. You looked up at him. Your eyes shimmered and flashed once, twice. You blinked, and finally, "Prussia..."


	19. Chapter 19

The moon shone high above the city. The streets that were once crowded with people were empty after having felt an intense amount of tension coming from the three men that were in the middle of it all.

America watched Russia carefully. He had always had a bit of rage for the northern country because of their history. He didn't think he would ever completely hate him, until now, that is. England stared at America. Fear and pride was painted in his eyes. Ever since the Revolution, England had always feared America, and his fears had come true. Russia's eyes shifted between the two other countries. England had always been a thorn in his side. He had always been jealous of America. Russia didn't really have any reason to ally himself with either of them.

But America and England thought differently. America gave England a weak smirk and England returned it, rising to his feet. "Well then, gentlemen." He dusted himself off and walked over to Russia, holding his hand out. "I suppose I'll be on my way then."

Russia's eyes flickered from England's face, to his hand, and back. He hesitated slightly, and finally took his hand. "I'm glad you are to be understandink," he said with a small smile.

As soon as he touched his hand, England's eyes shimmered and his smile disappeared into a frown. He held Russia's hand tightly in his iron grip and yanked it closer to his body. His other hand curled into a fist and met Russia's diaphram. A crunch of bone resonated in the air and bounced off the concrete walls. Russia groaned in pain and fell to his knees. "Well now, that's a good look for you!" England said coldly. "On your knees, bowing before me."

Russia glared up at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't get the chance. America had stood while he was preoccupied with England. The younger country rammed the toe of his shoe upwards into Russia's chin. Russia felt himself being lifted into the air, and his body crashed against a building on the other side of the street.

Germany had seen the people fleeing the scene. He found the streets empty and arrived in time to see the large Russian being forced into a building by the sheer strength of a weakened America. A twinge of fear shook his body; he wasn't as weakened as America, but neither was Russia. His eyes traveled to the building. He didn't see the large man anywhere. "Vell, zhis vas unexpected." America and England both turned at the sound of Germany's voice. "I really vanted to kill him myshelf, but it looks like you beat me to it."

"What are you doing here?" England all but shouted. "Shove off, Germany. We don't want to hurt you."

Germany smirked and looked around at the empty buildings. "I've come here doing exactly vhat you vere doing; getting rid of zhe competition." Germany reached into his coat and reevealed a shiny black pistol, pointing it at America. "Since you're zhe shtrongest vone here, I suppose I should shart vith you." His eyes shifted to England. A twinkle in his eye made England understand, and he unsheathed his own pistol, placing it just over America's temple.

America glared at his caretaker. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"I told you, I would kill you if I had the chance," England said coldly. "And it looks like I'm getting that chance right now."

America made a sound that was between a hiccup and a laugh. It grew from a chuckle to an outright laugh. "You still think you're going to win this war?"

Germany grimaced at him. "Ve have a better chance of vinning it zhan you."

America's hysterical laugh stopped and it was replaced by a fearsome scowl. "_I'm_ going to win this war, and I don't care if this world goes to hell along with me!"

England's eyes widened. "You're not seriously thinking about using your Weapons of Mass Destruction, are you?" The diabolical smirk on America's face answered his question. "You've gone mad! You'll kill her too!"

"Then that's just a sacrifice I'll have to make!" America shouted. "She's mine. And if I can't have her, I'm going to make sure none of you can!"

*~*

Your arms were wrapped around the Reaper a lot longer than you had anticipated. But it felt so good to finally know where you belonged. Prussia didn't deny you the embrace either, holding you back gently as tears streamed down your face and onto his cheek. "Velcome back, Frau," he whispered after a few moments.

You pulled away and wiped the tears from your eyes. "I'm sorry... I didn't plan on things to go this way..."

"Zhe military vill often force you to do zhings you don't vant to do," he explained with an understanding face. "I know vhat it can do. It's not your fault."

You bit your lip. "Well... H-how is everyone?" A mental image of America looking rather sickly in your office flashed across your eyes. "America? How is he? Is he alright?"

Prussia raised a hand, telling you to quiet down. "America is only vone of your vorries. He's not zhe only vone affected."

You forced tears that threatened to fall back. "How did this happen?" Your voice was soft and timid, almost afraid of the answer.

Prussia searched his mind for words. It was hard to explain that it was entirely your fault without making you feel bad about it. "Let me shart from zhe beginning. You vere svearing in to zhe military. America vas zhere, ja? But zhen, you began to not be able to see him. It vas zhe same for zhe rest of us. No matter how hard ve called out to you, you vouldn't hear us, let alone see us. In time, our memories of you shtarted fading, because you didn't remember us.

"Zhe military brainvashed you, in a vay. You vere forced to zhink about zhe 'greater good' of zhe government. You did not vork for zhe country itself. But you vere alright vith zhat, because zhat is vhat you vere trained to do. Little by little, you shtarted taking avay zhe citizen's rights, to a point nearing Martial Law. America, being a country run by his people, shtarted to veaken. Zhe more rights you shtripped avay, zhe veaker he became. But it doesn't shtop zhere.

"Being a global pover, America's veakness shtarted shifting to zhe countries closest to him: England, China and Russia, to be exact. Zhe political leaders saw vhat a mess America vas becoming, and zhey shut off all relations vith him, making him even more veak. But zhe military leaders saw zhe pover America's military vas gaining by restraining people's rights. Zhey shtarted doing zhe same zhing. Zhe shtrongest countries in zhe vorld vere getting veaker. Because zhe veaker countries are controlled by zhe shtronger countries, zhey vere purged of zheir resources and left to vizher avay.

"And zhat leads us here." His voice was now barely above a whisper. His eyes were downcast and a tinge of sadness painted his face. "Veak countries vill lose zheir shtability and are much more likely to act brashly. Veak countries vizhout shtability zhat control poverful veapons, like America and Russia, vill destroy zhe planet if zhey are pushed zhe wrong vay. Do you undershtand?"

Your eyes were filled with horror. "S-so... because I didn't remember you... you forgot about me?"

Prussia nodded. "Ja, it's a quirk vith us countries."

"But you remembered me."

Prussia's mouth went dry. "I... I am not a country anymore. Zhose rules no longer apply to me."

You nodded in understanding. "Now what?" you said aloud. You looked around until your eyes rested on a beautifully colored nebula, and you were suddenly lost in its intensity.

Prussia's eyes flickered up to yours. "Now ve have to shtop it."

Your blood ran cold. You slowly turned to face him, his expression harsh and serious. "You're kidding, right?" His expression never changed. "Oh, what? Y-you've lost it, definitely..."

Prussia stroked your face and lifted your chin with his finger. "You're zhe only vone zhat can shtop zhis var..."

You twitched your face away and took a step back. "I'm just a human! What could I possibly do?"

He looked up at you, his bloodshot eyes searing your soul. His face became distorted with determination. As if reading his mind, you suddenly knew exactly what you had to do.


	20. Chapter 20

England smirked. He had America at his mercy. The cool metal pistol in his hand shone in the light of the moon. All he had to do was pull the trigger. His finger retracted and a loud _bang!_ was heard throughout the city.

England's eyes widened. A man with long hair was holding his hand above his head, the pistol aiming for the stars. "I don't think so," he whispered. "I've worked too hard and too long for him to die. If you want to kill him..." He took a step back, marking a defensive stance. "You'll have to go through me first, aru!"

America looked up in disbelief. "China...?" It was difficult to process that the one of the countries he hated more than Russia was now protecting him. Still, he owed him his life. "Thank you," he breathed.

China smiled back at him. "Sorry it took so long, aru... I was a bit preoccupied." America's eyes drifted to one of China's hands, and he saw that it was wrapped tightly in bloody bandages.

He gave an airy chuckle. "Yeah, that's alright. By the way..." an evil smirk played on his lips. "Fuck you for destroying my plane."

China cringed. "Can we just focus on me saving your life, aru?"

England regained his composure and pulled back away from China. "Don't be fooled, America. China never does something for nothing. I'm sure he'll find a way to kill you later, not that it would matter since I was going to do that myself." His comment was aimed more for China than America.

But China was not pleased. "America is very important to me. Like I would let a pirate like you get to him," he said coldly.

England shrugged. "Well, don't blame me if he later stabs you in the back. All Communists have been known to do that."

"Like you?" America frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. "You did the same thing, don't you remember? It wasn't directly like the majority of the Communist states. Yours was worse." America's eyes were suddenly filled with sorrow. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. England had to strain to hear it. "I depended on you and all you did was squeeze the life out of me. If I hadn't rebelled I would have died for sure." Something fierce grew in his gaze, staining it with hatred and fury. "You knew that, didn't you?"

"And if I did?" England scoffed. "I knew the potential you had over me. I wasn't about to let a brat like you defy me. So I did what I had to."

"By what?" America shouted. "Deliberately oppressing _your_ people into hating you and wishing you dead? You gave me my liberty on a silver platter."

England raised his pistol once more at America's face. "I don't think this is the time or place for closure. That should have happened years ago."

*~*

You were back in the building, holding Prussia's hand. It was still dark out. You hadn't been gone for more than five minutes, though it felt like hours just floating around in Space. It was a jittery feeling and you wanted to experience it again. But you know it wasn't the time. As if on cue, you heard a crash, and you felt the building shake. Prussia looked out a window and frowned. "It's shtarted."

Your heard pounded rapidly in your chest. The countries were beginning their fight. With trembling hands, you opened the door to the hallway and rushed out, tripping clumsily on the rubble. You could hear Prussia's chuckle behind you, but you paid it no mind. In front of you was a long pink scarf, dirtied with dust and crushed under the pile of rubble.

A sudden pain struck your chest like a bullet. "N-no..." was the first word that escaped your lips, airy and weak. You started to dig through the piles of cement and rubble. Finally, a face appeared underneath it all. You cleared the body of the rubble, save for one piece of cement. It was on his chest, anchored through his body and into the floor by three pieces of re-bar.

Prussia' couldn't resist peeking. "Poor bashtard..." he whispered.

You couldn't find the words to say what you wanted. Your hands were shaking, but you placed them on his shoulders. "R-Russia...?" you breathed, a tear clinging to your eyelashes before finally falling on his face. "Wake up... Russia, wake up!" No matter how hard you shook him, the giant wouldn't wake. "Please wake up..."

Russia's eyes twitched and he opened them just enough to let him see. "H-hello, _dorogaya_..." he whispered.

A huge smile came across your face. "I knew you wouldn't die so easily..."

Russia's smile became pained. "_Prostii menya_... I tried my hardest for you..."

You shook your head and stroked his hair. "D-don't say that... You won't die. Russia can't die!"

He lifted a hand and gently poked your nose. "Russia vill not die, da. That does not mean Russia cannot die." The sound of a gunshot rang through the building. His eyes shifted to the hole in the wall where he had entered earlier. "America-kun is down there. You shoult hurry... I don't think he vill to be beink safe anymore."

"But-!"

Russia frowned and pushed his finger to your lips, silencing you. "That is _your_ country down there. You svore to protect him, da. Now go."

Sudden realization hit you. Russia was right; you had to protect America with your own life. But you didn't want to leave Russia. He could die at any moment if he didn't get help.

Prussia placed a hand on your shoulder. "Go, I'll shtay vith him."

You looked up and smiled and him. "Don't die, okay?" you said to Russia, kissing his forehead and rushing down the stairs.

Prussia watched you go before turning his attention to Russia. "You're a good actor. But you don't have to force yourshelf anymore."

Russia gave a pained nod and laid his head down to rest. All was silent for a moment. "Prussia-kun..." Russia said finally.

"Ja?"

A tear escaped his eye and ran down his cheek. "I... I don't vant to die..." Prussia stayed quiet. "Does it hurt?"

Prussia sighed and sat down on the floor next to him, taking his hand in his. "Nein. It's like falling ashleep. Alzhough..." He eyed the concrete crushing him. "In your case zhe pain vill drift avay until you're numb, und zhen you'll fall ashleep."

Russia swallowed a lump in his throat and gave another painful nod. "Is that so..." Suddenly, a smile appeared on his face. "She... doesn't hate me..."

Something pulled at Prussia's heartstrings. "Nein. She really likes you."

"I'm glad..." Russia smiled warmly. Maybe vhen I get out of this I'll take her to Moskva..."

Prussia winced. _He's losing it..._ he thought. "Ja, I zhink she vill like zhat. Take her to see zhe cazhedral, und zhe museums."

Russia giggled. "Da! And I'll take her to see your castle, too..." His voice drifted away and for a second, Prussia thought he was gone. "Prussia-kun...?"

"Hm?"

"_Prostii menya_... I've been horrible to you..."

Prussia couldn't take it any more. True, they had their fights in the past. But Russia kept him alive for a little longer, when everyone else wanted him dead. A small tear rolled out of his eye and plipped onto Russia's nose. "It's alright. I should be zhanking you, actually-" His eyes drifted across Russia's face and into his eyes.

His cold, lifeless eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

The sound of the gunshot attracted wary eyes. Not of humans, however, but the rest of the countries: France, Italy, and Japan. They lurked in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, watching the chaos before them. None of them wanted to move. However, they each had someone special in the mix that they had to defend.

China leapt at America, pushing him out of the way just in time for England's bullet to miss. "You can't be serious?" England chuckled darkly. "You're both injured. How are you going to defeat me again?"

Japan jumped from the shadows, holding a rather sharp katana, the tip digging gently into England's back. "I wouldn't underestimate eisehr of us, Mr. Engrand."

France took his turn next, pointing is own gun at Japan. "As if I would let you 'urt my little Angleterre!" Germany made a move toward France, but France stopped him with a second pistol. "Not anozher step or you both die, oui?"

Italy shook with fear. He didn't want his friends to die. But all of those strong countries... They were certainly stronger than him. Still... _I beat the Ottoman Turks when I was a bambino!_ He clenched his fists and ran up to France, pushing him out of the way and pointing a pistol at him. "I'm-a sorry, Big Brother. But I can't-a let you hurt my friends!"

The group was a tangled mess of limbs and weapons. Finally America spoke. "Guys. We don't have to kill each other, you know."

England sighed. "I'm afraid America is right, for once."

"Ja, I agree," Germany added. The rest of the group all agreed.

But none lowered their weapons.

America continued. "It's safe to say that since _ belongs to _my_ military, she's going to have to do as I say. And I say to hell with all of you, leave us alone!"

"Not very heroic, are you?" England sneered. "Did you really think we would listen to you?"

America shrugged. "It was worth a shot. Quit trying to steal my girl, Limey. That's going against international laws."

"To hell with your international laws!" England shouted, threatening to pull the trigger. China blocked his way and Japan tightened the pressure on the blade, resulting in France threatening to shoot and Italy ramming his fist into France's nose.

Suddenly England knocked China to his feet and advanced towards America. Analyzing the situation, America reached for his former brother's wrist, and with a swift twist a small cracking sound informed the two that England's wrist was fractured, if not worse. England felt the weapon slip from his now weaker grasp but before he could reclaim it, America had mustered up enough strength to yank the smaller country over himself and bring him down hard onto the ground. The asphalt cracked and gave way under the force of the nation's body, sinking him a good six inches into the bedrock.

England, however, appeared to be fine. A country's body was much more resilient than a human's. Even so, the force of America's strength shook the Brit. America's body was weak. But his strength had nothing to do with it. It almost felt as if America's entire military beat his body into the ground. But this force was more than that. It felt like something heavy was being dropped on him.

America was bombing London.

England's mind was spinning. He didn't have the force need to launch an all-out war against America in the next five seconds. And America wasn't going to give up that quickly either. While England was trembling from all the bombings, America zipped over to Germany and landed a powerful blow to his jaw, drilling him into the ground as well.

It soon became clear who the strongest nation in the group was.

The battlefield was all a blur. France slammed his fist into Germany's face; Italy responded by shooting a couple rounds at France, hitting him in the arm and leg. Then, China turned his attention to Germany, the other country who was threatening his investment, and was immediately stopped by Japan. The two brothers battled it out with their various forms of martial arts. It was a battle worthy of being called the Second Antietam.

England finally managed to stand and he rushed toward America once more. But he was intercepted by China and thrown into a fight with the martial arts master. Their fighting styles were so different, it was almost chaotic. England was throwing punches and dodging all of China's attacks, while China was knocking England's punches away and pulling every trick he had up his sleeve. Finally, England got his shot and he dug his knuckle into China's injured hand. China cringed back and England threw himself at China.

America turned just in time and he knocked England off his course. "You're fighting with me, remember?!" he shouted.

England let his fist do the talking, landing a blow on America's face, throwing him on the floor like a brick. "My, don't you look pretty!" he grimaced. "Who do you think you're dealing with? I'm over two thousand years old! How much more experience do you think I have over you?" England climbed onto America and started throwing punch after punch on the young nation's face. His glasses cracked easily, and it wasn't long before America was a bleeding mess. "You may be stronger than me, but your body is weak because of that girl. I don't even have to try to hurt you to leave you like this."

America spit out the blood that collected in his mouth. His azure eyes met England's emerald ones, and they shared a moment of loathing. "I think I'm going kill you now," England smirked, retrieving his pistol from the ground where he dropped it. "And this time, do me a favor and stay dead, yes?"

You managed to maneuver your way around the ruble to the entrance of the building. Your eyes widened when they saw the handgun pointed at your country. "NO!" you shouted, running as fast as you could toward them. But it was too late. The deafening sound of a firing gun rang in your ears. Your heart skipped a beat. America's body fell limp on the floor where it once stood. England huffed and turned his attention to the rest of the crew, uncaring that America was wounded.

Your legs moved subconsciously, speeding toward America's body. The long red skirt fluttered in the wind behind you. You dropped to your knees in front of the American. He was still before you "Oh, no..." you whispered. "No, no, no, no, this _can't_ be happening..." Tears rolled down your eyes effortlessly. You gently lifted your country's head and rested it anyone lap. "Alfred..." you said, your voice cracking. "A-Alfred, wake up..." You knew he wouldn't wake. But something inside you didn't want to accept the fact. "America..." He stayed silent. "America, I'm so sorry..." You pressed your forehead to his bloody hair, feeling the warm liquid on your skin. The tears came harder now, but you dared not make a sound out of fear of being taken away from America again.

Finally, you looked up. The rest of the countries was killing each other, unaware of your presence. You opened your mouth to speak. But no words came out. You wet your lips and tried again. "...gland...nce...ger..." None of them were listening to you. You watched in horror as Japan made a quick move to cut down England from him lashing out at Italy.

"ENGLAND!" you shouted. "Italy... France... All of you, stop! Please..."

As if on command, they stopped. "_?" England started carefully. "Do you remember us now...?"

Your voice left you alone. All you could do was cry out loud, holding your lifeless country in your arms.


	22. Chapter 22

You woke up with a start.

It was an odd feeling. You didn't even remember falling asleep. You shook your head and rolled out of bed. Your bunkmates were all still sleeping. 'Great,' you thought. 'I woke up earlier than I was supposed to.' With nothing better to do, you started getting dressed for the morning activities.

As the day progressed. you realized something was not quite right. Where were the countries? Russia? Was America alright? By the looks of your teammates, America was still alive. Everything was going smoothly, as if the previous week's events had never happened.

"Someone _please_ tell me what this insignia means," the instructor groaned from the front of the class. "I want to get the hell out of here and have a nice cup of coffee." His deep blue eyes scanned the room and rested on your wandering ones. "Airman _, why don 't you tell me what this is?"

At the sound of your surname, your eyes shot to the front of the class. You had been so worried about the world, you hadn't exactly been paying attention to the instructor at all. Your eyes switched from the instructor to the insignia on the whiteboard and back. "L... Lieutenant...?" You weren't entirely sure anymore.

The instructor chuckled slightly. "Drop and give me ten." You did as you were told, pacing yourself so you wouldn't have to stand up so quickly. You heard someone say, "Colonel?" and another say, "Captain?" and those classmates were also told to drop and do pushups. Finally, you stood up and his eyes settled on you again. Everyone else was on the floor doing physical exercises. "Care to try again, _?"

"Sergeant, the insignia shown is ranked 'Major,' Sergeant." The words flowed easily through your mouth.

That must have been the correct answer. And the instructor confirmed it by flashing you a smirk and allowing you to sit down while the others continued their exercises.

It had rained outside. Didn't matter, you were still doing your physical training. Today happened to be the day you were required to get dirty. "You will crawl fifty meters up a steep hill, carry your partner a hundred yards, switch partners and go the other hundred yards, and complete a mile run. Questions?" Your mind was still wandering from earlier, but you somehow managed to pay attention to the drill instructor. "First team, go!"

You were off. Holding an M16 in your hands was easy enough. But once you got to the hill, crawling proved difficult. Because the crawl was not only hard to do on your elbows and knees-you were also required to have your face on the ground. And this ground happened to be made of mud. The natural feminine instincts of staying clean were difficult to ignore, and the drill instructor saw it.

"_! Get your fucking face in the ground right now!" He shouted. You did, against your will, but apparently it wasn't enough. You soon felt a heavy boot on your back, forcing your face deeper in the mud. "Do you want to die?!"

"No, Drill Sergeant!"

"Do you want to give up?!"

"No, Drill Sergeant!"

"Do you want to let your country down?!"

"No, Drill Sergeant!"

"Then I suggest you get your face in the fucking mud and get your ass up on that hill, maggot!"

"Yes, Drill Sergeant!" After a few feet of crawling, the mud felt nothing short of good on your face. It almost felt natural to you, as if you were born to get your hands dirty if it meant you kept your country safe from anyone who opposed it.

At the top of the hill, your battle buddy bent down and picked you up onto her back and began carrying you the hundred yards. It was a bumpy ride, but you were glad for the short rest. At the end of her turn, you dropped from her back and tossed her on your back, going another hundred yards. The weight of another person's body stressed your muscles in a way you never thought possible. You thought it was going to kill you, but instead it gave you even more encouragement. Perhaps someday, in a battle situation, you were going to have to carry your buddy out of danger. Having experienced the death of two of your closest friends further deepened the need to be stronger, faster, move farther, and push your body harder. You were not about to let anyone else down.

At the end of the day, your body was sore and numb. You could hardly move back to the barracks, and when you did, you fell on your bunk stiff as a board. Tomorrow was graduation day, a day you had been anticipating since Day 0.

In the morning, you felt odd that you had no dreams. The routines went as planned: morning exercise, breakfast, and finally, the parade. The males went first, running a mile or two in front of a crowd of spectating civilians, most of which were friends and family. Then the females. It was hard to keep from looking up at the crowd. You had invited your mother to the graduation, but you weren't entirely sure she had come. You never received a letter from her, so you had every right to believe she didn't. Still, it would be a pleasant surprise to see you cheering you on from the bleachers.

And then the formal graduation. Everything was very official. You were standing in your blues, you repeated a few words the sergeants told you to repeat (which was basically an oath to the country,) and you were allowed to throw your cap into the air, provided you knew which one was yours and it returned to your head safely. Everything was fine and dandy until the crowd dispersed and you were surrounded by people hugging the new Airmen, some of them getting hugs and kisses from wife and children.

And you...

It didn't take long to weave your way out of the crowd. "I guess she didn't come..." you said under your breath. You pushed aside the feelings of reject and held your head high with pride for yourself. And then the most amazing thing happened. There in front of you, a wall of nine men was walking in procession towards you. You couldn't heard what they were talking about, but they were smiling and laughing. All were clad in black suits, and looked of different ethnicity. You saw a Japanese man, an Italian, two Germans, an American, an Englishman, a Frenchman, a Russian, and a Chinese man. The American, who stood in the middle, shined the brightest of all, blonde hair and blue eyes shimmering in the daylight. He had his head cocked to the side and his hand raised as if saying, "Remember the time when..."

He suddenly turned his head forward, still smiling brightly. His eyes rested on you. His smile widened. There was a look or tenderness mixed with pride, satisfaction, and joy in his eyes. The kind of look a father would have given his child if he got accepted into Harvard on a full scholarship. You didn't bother looking behind you-you knew he was looking at you and no one else. Everyone around him followed suit, though each one's expression was slightly different. Most of them were full of pride and happiness. There was a cocky smirk on the albino's face. You flashed a grin at everyone, letting a stray tear fall from your eye.

Your eyes finally rested back on the American. His toothy grin melted into a soft, loving smile. Suddenly, he winked at you, and the group disappeared in a gust of golden dust. A breeze swept up the dust from its fall to the ground and circled around you. "I'm proud of you." "You did it, Bella!" "My sinceresht congraturations." "You did good job, aru!" "Try not to be fuckink up in the future, da?" "Ma cherie is as intelligent as she is beautiful, non?" "You are magnificent, love."

"Did you like your surprise?"

The familiar voice, the familiar phrase... But before you could answer, the dust was gone, the wind settled. You felt something clutched in your hand and quietly looked down. A pair of military dog tags linked together by a chain were carried softly in your palm. You grabbed one and looked at it, reading to yourself.

JONES, ALFRED F  
004-07-1776  
U.S. ARMY  
PROTESTANT  
O NEGATIVE  
JULY 4, 1776

A smile grew on your face. They were his, Alfred's. A new found hope fluttered in you. The events that happened may have only been a dream. But this was proof enough that they were real, in more ways than one.


End file.
